


The Price of Wishes Granted

by Larathia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant (Mostly), F/M, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, SHEITH - Freeform, and there is much to fix, season 8 was a clusterfuck, this one will take a while folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-09-22 17:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 258,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larathia/pseuds/Larathia
Summary: Keith couldn't bear a universe that didn't have Shiro in it. What he got was a universe that had a Shiro that no longer loved him. And maybe if it had been anyone but Keith, that would have mattered.Keith, however, had made a promise. "As many times as it takes," he'd said.If he could make that promise reach beyond the bounds of death, a little thing like Shiro marrying someone else wasn't going to stand a chance.





	1. The End is the Beginning

Wishes can come true, especially when magic is involved, but every wish granted comes with a cost.

Keith had _thought_ the worst reality was Shiro's death. He was - still - willing to die rather than live in a world where Shiro was not. So maybe that meant it was still the worst reality. He wasn't dead, after all. He could breathe, he could focus on the task at hand.

The price for that - the price for a world where Shiro lived - was Shiro's love.

He hadn't realized that would be the price. He would have paid it regardless, though, so maybe that meant it didn't matter. 

What mattered, what had always mattered, was Shiro was alive, and he was happy.

~*~

The invitation had not, on due consideration, been that much of a surprise. It had _hurt_ , hell yes it had hurt, Kosmo had whumped against him hard enough to knock him over in response to the hurt, but it hadn't really been a _surprise_. Shiro hadn't had much of anything to say that wasn't strictly related to the work at hand for months. Pidge could make crystal relays that bounced communications across several galaxies with no visible delay (she'd tried explaining how, but stopped in disgust when she registered Keith's expression slipping from 'polite interest' to 'completely lost'; the word 'quantum' had been said at least six times though) but she couldn't make anyone have something to say.

Shiro was fine. The Atlas was taking on crew from a dozen worlds, free exchange of ideas and technologies, new worlds joining the coalition every week. Nothing in there about dating anyone, but why would there be? It was good, really good, that Keith was getting the galra weaned off the concept of absolute authoritarian rule. It was a shame that Keith wasn't willing to lead his people into the new era, but understandable. Such had been the content of the few conversations they'd had.

It was all of a piece. It had been baffling and painful until Keith remembered when it had been like this before. 

It had been like this, just like this, after the clone had recovered enough to take command of the paladins. Only this time, he hadn't had to prove his worthiness to anyone; it had been handed to him. By everyone, really. Command of the most powerful warship in the universe had quite literally landed in Shiro's lap. And he was worthy of it. He had always been worthy of it. That was one of many reasons Keith loved him. Shiro could do anything. Even a clone of him could do anything. And now they were the same man, and apparently in the melding it was the clone's assessment of Keith that had won out. Keith was not worthy.

But that did not matter, not really. It changed nothing. When he could breathe again, when he could let go of Kosmo's warm, thick furry ruff, Keith RSVP'd with a note that his wolf would be his plus-one, and went to get his spare Blade uniform out of storage. It had significantly fewer mends in it.

Of course Ezor, ever curious, intercepted him. "What's the occasion?"

"I'll be taking a few quintants off," Keith replied. "Maybe a movement."

Ezor grinned her 'something's uuuuup' grin, leaning into his personal space. "You _never_ take time off. You're boring in ways Lotor only _dreamed_ of. Where are you going? Is Acxa going with you?"

 _"Acxa_ is making sure this ship stays on mission while I'm gone," said Keith firmly. "Chandra needs those seeds."

"Aw," said Ezor, still in that half-joking tone. "It's almost like you don't trust us. I can't imagine why, we haven't tried to kill you in _phoebs_." Lowering her voice, almost to a whisper, she added, "Bring back lots of those morning-distillation beans." And then bounced off; Keith was privately sure Ezor's non-galra side came from a high-gravity world. 

Once she was gone he blew out a slow breath. He couldn't be surprised she knew where he was going. She probably knew why, too. Ezor liked knowing things; half the reason she played the brainless ditz was that people quite often said more than they intended or realized once they started explaining something. Well. if Ezor knew then Zethrid knew. Between the two of them they'd _probably_ be able to work out how much to tell Acxa. Probably exactly as much as she needed to know; in certain respects, sharing a ship with a bunch of other half-galra was an unmitigated relief. So many things didn't _need_ to be explained. Shiro was Keith's mate. Simple, short, to the point. These three women - all of whom _had_ tried to kill him at least once - didn't need to be told more. They understood the whole unhappy complicated mess from just those four words.

He packed his good uniform and Kosmo's grooming brushes, and the collar Kosmo _only_ wore for very special occasions. Took a modified galra fighter, and put in a call to Garrison central hub for a wormhole.

~*~

The wedding was beautiful, because of course it was.

Kosmo knew Keith didn't want to be here, that everything about the entire situation hurt. So the wolf - now the size of a horse, which meant most of the human guests gave him a _wide_ berth, sparkly crystal-set collar or no - glued himself to Keith's side, watching everyone and everything for signs of imminent danger. There wasn't any, of course, not of the straightforward variety at least. 

It said something that the other paladins informally glued themselves to Keith's vicinity, too - even Hunk, who was overseeing the catering and thus _had_ to circulate, came back to Keith's corner of the outdoor pavilion rather more often than strictly necessary. Nobody asked him if he was okay. They didn't need to.

A shinto ceremony - or possibly buddhist; Keith wasn't actually sure. The site was surrounded by blooming cherry trees though - the guests seemed to get showered in petals with every breeze.

"Just checking, you understand," asked Lance at one point. "You're not going to kill Curtis, are you?" At Keith's dour look, he raised his hands. "Just checking," he repeated.

"Why did you come?" asked Pidge, loading a plate with the finger foods. "I mean...even Shiro would've understood if you'd opted out. You're not exactly good at faking happiness. You've practically got a personal raincloud over your head."

"I had to see for myself," said Keith. "That's all."

"See what, though?" asked Lance. "You've met Curtis."

"That Shiro is happy now," said Keith. "That's all that matters."

That shut everyone up, though not exactly happily. Shiro _was_ happy. Everyone could see that. He smiled, he laughed, he looked ...relaxed. Like there wasn't a care left in the world. And he danced with his new husband like they were going to team up and show the universe what joy looked like. The paladins toasted the couple with everyone else, and watched the first dance. As the rest of the guests started joining in, Keith said, "Can I ask you guys for a favor?"

Pidge slanted a look at him. "Is it legal?"

"...Keep an eye on Shiro for me?" asked Keith carefully. "We know nothing lasts forever. If he ...needs me. For anything. Ever. Will you two make sure I get word, and can get here quickly?"

Lance sighed, tilting his head back to look at the stars as they began to emerge from the twilight. One hand absently brushed fingertips over the marks Allura had left him. "I'll make sure you get word, Keith," he agreed, then got up to go mingle.

Pidge took longer to think about it. "You realize his life now is none of your business," she said. 

"I know," Keith agreed. "I'm not asking for regular updates or anything like that. If something happens - if he _needs_ me - I think you'll know. That's all."

"Honestly, I think _Lance_ will know," said Pidge. "He's ...changed, since Allura. If he says Shiro needs you, I'll send you a priority wormhole. But that's all I'll commit to."

She didn't leave the table, but she did fall silent. The tapping of her fingers on the table suggested she was typing on holographic keys. Taking video with her glasses, adding personal notes. Keith watched the dancing and the celebrating for a while, one hand petting Kosmo's fur. The wolf gave him a worried, _why exactly are we here_ look more than once. But Keith was waiting for a specific part of the night - when the two primary celebrants split up to talk to the guests.

Given the past two years, Keith suspected Curtis would come to him first - that Shiro would put it off. He wasn't wrong. Curtis approached without a shred of wariness for the giant wolf, without any concern or fear. "Glad all the paladins could make it," he said. "You're all very important to him." It was so generic it practically shouted _I have no idea what to say_. 

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," said Keith, in the pleasantly neutral tone he'd had a lot of practice with lately. "Take care of him, would you? He deserves to be happy."

Curtis smiled, which probably meant he had read that as general well-wishing and not the serious injunction Pidge definitely knew it was. "That's the plan. Enjoy the party, both of you."

Once he'd gone, Pidge noted, without moving, "That wasn't exactly fair of you. What are you going to do to him if he doesn't?"

"Depends on the situation at the time," said Keith. "I wouldn't worry about his health if I were you. As long as Shiro's happy." He set down the untouched champagne flute. "Take care, Pidge. It was nice to see you again."

Pidge's expression turned wry. "You're getting weirder as time goes by, Keith. Take care."

Shiro was approaching their table. Keith could see, even at this distance, that any conversation would be awkward and unpleasant and he was out of strength to cope with any more of that. He stood up. As he did, Kosmo also got to his paws. Standing, the wolf loomed over the table.

Briefly.

The distance between the wedding and the tarmac where Keith's ship waited for them was nothing for Kosmo anymore. He teleported the distance in a blink, and Keith gave him a relieved hug. "Thanks, buddy."

Kosmo nuzzled him with his big furry face, and Keith leaned into the affection. Honestly, finding Kosmo was second only to finding his mother in terms of wonderful life events. The giant wolf nuzzled and licked at him, playing very gently for a being of his size and weight, until the tension of the day melted away. He fired up the ship's engines. "One last stop, and then we head back." 

The wolf flicked one ear back, his way of saying, _is that a good idea?_

"Ezor asked me to bring back coffee beans," Keith reminded him. 

Kosmo made a soft _whuff_ of breath and laid down next to the pilot seat. Bipeds and their crazy liquid things that tasted terrible.

Keith couldn't help it; he smiled, ruffling Kosmo's fur. "Yeah, it does taste terrible. I think she just likes the buzz, to be honest."

~*~

Teleporting away from the reception - and doing so in Shiro's line of sight - had consequences, of course. When Keith got back to the Blades, there was a message from Shiro expressing in the most formal of terms that he found Keith attending but leaving so pointedly to be rude and immature and that he'd honestly expected better of the last Black Paladin. And, further, that he was entirely capable of taking care of himself, and the war was _over_ , and Shiro had asked no one, least of all Keith, to be his caretaker and to leave his husband out of any attempts to play watchdog.

Keith had expected the letter, and expected it to hurt - as it had always hurt when Shiro disapproved of him - but this time it didn't. 

A further consequence was that apparently Shiro had felt the need to impart basically the same information to Krolia. And that should have been embarrassing - honestly it should have been mortifying. She wore something between the uniform of a senior Blade and an Imperial General these days - the galra still sort of working out how they wanted to signify rank when their military had been all but gutted - and told him all about it with an attitude somewhere between amused and indignant.

"You should have told him how it is with galra," she said pointedly. "That was information he needed. As it was I had to explain that to him. And also that if all you did was tell his new spouse to look after him you were being dangerously lenient and in all fairness I would have to correct the situation."

"You do realize threatening to kill his husband probably wasn't going to get the point across," said Keith, keeping his attention on cleaning his armor. He kept trying not to picture his mother intimidating Shiro. He knew she _did_. He'd seen it firsthand. But the image was hilarious to think about. Captain of the Atlas, commander of historic campaigns, but Krolia could make Shiro _hop_ without a threatening word.

"He'll understand eventually," Krolia answered, sitting down near her son. "The important thing for him to understand is that you're only _half_ human. There's only so far you can bend before something breaks. And if he gets anywhere near that point I'm going to revise my opinion of him. And then I'm going to revise _him_."

Keith took a few deep breaths, considering himself. "...Why am I not angry with you?" he asked at last.

Krolia leaned over, gently tucking a tuft of Keith's hair behind his ear. "Because he is your mate," she said gently. "He's safe and happy and that's all that really matters. And now you know that he knows that. And you also know that he's aware this doesn't mean you're his pet or his doormat, and he won't be allowed to use this to hurt you deliberately - even if you're sure he never would."

"How did you and Dad _ever_ work all this out?" asked Keith. He didn't remember his dad very well. A hero, in the media sense of the word. Savior of small kittens and citizens in danger. Not the most talkative though. He'd seen more of his father in Krolia's memories in the quantum abyss than he had memories of his own.

"We never did," Krolia admitted. "It honestly never came up. I don't think he ever knew. I also don't think it mattered, from his perspective. We had each other, and we had you to think of, and the Blue Lion. I ...didn't realize, at the time, that humans form families differently. There was only the two of us." She indicated her very purple self. "It wasn't as if I could go and socialize."

Keith sighed. Sometimes being unique really kind of sucked. A lot of the time it really sucked, on consideration. It meant there were very few cases where anyone had much in the way of useful advice.

Krolia squeezed his shoulder. "Your mate may be a clueless d'finl, but he's a good man. I've seen that for myself. He chose a good partner in this Curtis. I don't think either of us will have to kill him. I could wish he'd had the sense to choose _you_ , but- " she shrugged. 

"I'm not good enough," said Keith. "I'm not worthy."

"Of course you are," said Krolia shortly. She had no patience for self pity or doubt, though Keith's tone had held neither. "I don't know what scale you're using, but if that's your conclusion it's very much flawed." Her eyes narrowed. "If Shiro makes you think that -"

"Don't kill him," said Keith quickly. "You know I can't let you."

Krolia's mouth snapped shut, lips thinning. Parental instinct was warring ferociously with a rational understanding of galra nature. As a mother she wanted to take what was hurting her son and stomp it into a greasy little puddle. As a rational, thinking being, she knew Keith _would_ fight her to protect Shiro - would die to protect Shiro if it came to that, even if it broke his heart to fight his mother. That was the trouble with instincts - if you didn't stop and think, they could get you killed. She at least knew what galra instincts _were_. Keith only had what he felt, and whether it was normal for a human. He'd done so much. She had to hold it firmly in her mind how young he was, how much there was still to teach him.

And right now he needed an example to follow. So she took a deep breath and nodded. "You're right, of course. I couldn't put you through that. But I did have words with Shiro. And Curtis. I've been promised that one or the other of them will send you a regular assurance that all is well, so that you have no reason to worry."

Keith looked a bit embarrassed. "I asked Lance to call me if there's a reason I should be there," he admitted.

Krolia beamed. " _Good_ ," she said. "Honestly if we had the manpower I'd station scouts in the area to maintain surveillance. But we really don't, and won't for decaphoebs."

"And if Lance calls?" asked Keith. 

His mother's smile faded. "If your friend calls and tells you your mate needs you, you're going to go," she said. "Consequences be what they may. Just...try to remember to send word to me, all right? I may be able to help you."


	2. You Can Take The Man Out Of The War....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting the stage. Keith isn't just killing time out in deep space; there's a lot that genuinely needs to be done. And while Shiro's apparently happy and safe, he can do quite a lot.
> 
> But circumstances change. They always change. What is the right response when they do?

One of the better things about working to essentially reinvent the entire galra culture was that there was _so much_ to do. For ten thousand years, the galra had basically had three factions. They'd had the Military, which doubled as the government, and to which the vast majority of galra belonged. They'd had the Blade of Marmora, which was almost a mirror image of the military but smaller and quieter, and they'd had the Civilians, which were basically 'all galra deemed unfit for military service'.

Most nations had the majority of their culture in that third category; for the galra, it was where you went if you weren't fit for anything else. Even what in most cultures would have been vital civilian services - medicine, search and rescue, agriculture - were for the galra 'those things subservient races do' or were branches of the military.

This meant that the galra empire wasn't just broken, it had been _dissolved_ , and the galra as a people had spent the past several years trying to pull something out of pure anarchy. The primary reason they hadn't taken two thirds of the universe with them into the chaos was, ironically, Honerva.

Galra space technology relied heavily on processed quintessence for fuel. But Honerva had killed off all the surviving Druids during her final days, and only she had truly known what the process was to _make_ someone a Druid. Without the Druids, even the remaining quintessence-harvesting sites were useless to the galra - they couldn't process the quintessence they had into usable fuel.

_Everything_ ran on processed quintessence. _Everything_. Every fighter, every cruiser, every blaster.

It didn't happen overnight, but as time passed more and more of the infrastructure of the galra empire just...melted away, like vampires at dawn.

And _that_ was why Keith had pushed, and pushed hard, to shift the Blade of Marmora to a humanitarian relief organization. Krolia and Kolivan were older, used to command and leadership and getting people to listen. Together they started pulling groups of galra together to begin creating a civilian government. At first it was just to make sure everyone shared what they had, and kept in touch as long as they could.

Keith drew on all the interstellar goodwill he'd earned as a Paladin of Voltron and started making deals. Right away, before the lack of new quintessence was visible to the rest of the universe.

The galra had to be seen as repentant and cooperative _now_. Before the universe realized how helpless the once-overlords really were and their minds shifted toward some justifiable revenge. Voltron was gone. If they could possibly avoid it, it would be better not to replace Galra warlords with a new, multicultural blend of warlords.

The first step had been finding New Olkari. The first deal was an agreement to help the Olkari make sure their planet was safe (easy enough, with the new coalition) in exchange for finding a way to convert existing Galra technology over to Altean power sources. Balmera crystals weren't ubiquitous, and much of what was left of the galra battle fleet would still have to be scrapped because there weren't going to be anything like enough crystals even if they stripped the balmeras to the point of death (which Keith was absolutely firm about not doing). But the galra would still be able to defend at least some of their worlds. They would remain part of the universal interstallar community.

They'd be able to protect Daibazaal, certainly.

Keith wasn't sure if it was Allura or Honerva that had decided to restore Daibazaal. It might well have been Honerva. Keith wasn't sure Allura would have understood what it meant to the galra to have their ancient homeworld back. He wasn't sure the _galra_ understood yet, either, but the effect was visible and powerful. Many, many galra were making their way to Daibazaal even if the journey took months to accomplish. Once there, many threw themselves into whatever role they could to build homes, and then cities.

Keith had spent time there - quite a bit really, helping the people get set up for elections. Like most things in his life, his feelings about the place were complicated. It was home to a part of him; that was all he could really say for certain. It was important. The part of him that was stamped 'leader' noted the powerful draw Daibazaal had on the older galra. None now remained who had set foot on it when it had last existed - all of those galra had been part of Zarkon's core force, and had died in battle or to Honerva. But there were galra whose parents had walked on Daibazaal, who had been raised on stories of Daibazaal before the comet hit. Those galra seemed willing to make any compromise if it just meant they could stay on Daibazaal.

All of it meant Keith's days were busy. There were ships to repair, convert, or scrap. There were bargains to make for goods to barter, and many worlds to visit with open hands before the window for peaceful negotiations closed. There were older adjutants and warlords who weren't at all sure about this peace thing but knew their outpost's batteries were on borrowed time, and had to decide whether to convert the base to something lower-tech but more sustainable or to take their people and go back to Daibazaal.

Hunk's advice had been good; people negotiated more fairly when they were full. More to the point, they negotiated fairly when the options presented did not include 'or you can stay here and starve'. Keith's ship was often loaded with crates of food.

He was stretched out on top of one of them, currently on a pallet on the landing field of Parada Base, enjoying a nice breeze and relative quiet, when Zethrid blocked the view of the sky by looming over him. "Worn out already? What, did you forget to eat?"

"Some of us aren't half Bhiton, Zethrid," said Keith dryly. "Just give me a few doboshes to catch my breath and I'll help load the quintessence."

"Commander Kir tried to gouge us again," Zethrid grumbled. "You _sure_ I can't just shake him until he changes his mind? This stuff's valuable!"

Parada was one of a very few sites that had managed to quickly switch over to sustainable quintessence farming practices. Parada was a young, very healthy world, full of life. Keith was _very_ wary of quintessence use, and to a degree even quintessence study. The Olkari elders, backed by Pidge, had smacked his reservations down. Nobody was suggesting that everyone be made immortal, or that planets be drained to dust for the sake of fuel. The effects on Honerva had made it clear that there were real psychological dangers to prolonged exposure and Pidge had worked hard on safety measures. But the potential of quintessence to heal the sick and injured could not, and should not be ignored. And if _sustainable_ quintessence farming could truly be done on anything like a large scale, it would take a great deal of burden off the balmeras to provide galactic power sources.

On the downside, _all_ the quintessence harvesting sites were former galra bases, and nearly all the officers running those bases were more than happy to gouge the coalition for whatever they could wring out of the universe in exchange now that quotas had been replaced with capitalism. Commander Kir was not an exception. And shaking the man (the way Zethrid 'shook' people tended to involve 'accidentally' tossing them into nearby walls) was...tempting. 

Shiro had taught him better, though, and whether Shiro ever heard about Parada was an irrelevant point. "Yeah, I'm sure," Keith replied, and patted Zethrid's arm as he sat up. She hated putting up with attitude. "We brought a lot because we knew he was going to be this way."

"Yeah, but this is like...a year's worth of food for some planets, and you _know_ he's going to short us," Zethrid grumbled. 

"He's not the only quintessence source in this sector," Keith replied quietly. "If he keeps this up we'll just have to blacklist him for a while." Parada wasn't a bad world to be stationed on. Kir and his people wouldn't starve. But they'd probably be willing to talk after a few decaphoebs of being entirely cut off from the rest of the universe.

"Hrmph," Zethrid grumbled. "Anyway. He's not why I'm here. Acxa said there's a call for you. Earth."

Not _Garrison_. Not _Coalition_. That meant personal. He hopped off the crate. "Thanks," he said. "I'll see if Acxa wants to reason with the commander."

Their ship was a converted cruiser; Keith had kept the weapons and enough fighters for the four of them, but the rest of the ship had largely been converted to haul cargo. There were still several pirate crews and a few recalcitrant warlords who thought it was their right to take anything they had the power to steal. Keith made his way to the bridge, where Acxa waited.

Ezor didn't tease them anymore. Not now that she knew where Keith stood. Acxa might have formed a mate-bond with Keith if they hadn't talked it out first, but she was still ...well, in human terms, 'getting over it'. Although they'd never so much as dated, the emotional states were similar to a breakup. It could have been a real problem if Acxa had actually been anywhere near Keith's age, but she was several hundred years older and actually working with Keith day to day had - for a while - been a series of shocks for her. 

She was by no means the first galra to be absolutely stunned that Keith wasn't even fifty yet. One of the side effects for Acxa had been a growing fascination with studying humanity. 

As Keith set foot on the bridge, she turned in the pilot's chair and nodded toward him. "Priority call from Earth," she said. In a somewhat softer tone, she added, "It is Shiro's husband."

Keith stopped cold. "Uh. What?"

Acxa nodded; apparently Keith's reaction had fit some theory or other she had. "It's coded personal, so I'll leave you to it. How's the unloading?"

"Done," said Keith, still trying to figure out why Curtis would call. For months, all communication on that front had just been a brief, 'continues happy, continues healthy'. He would have worried it was simply an automated message if Lance hadn't been quite clear that yes, actually, either Curtis or Shiro would in fact drop by once a month to send it. "Zethrid's sure Kir's going to try shorting us again."

Acxa stood up. "We can't have that. I'll go and make clear to him that acting like a black market dealer is not in his best interest. Should take a few vargas." She raised her voice. "Ezor, quit playing around and come with me. He may try something stupid."

Ezor, laughing, faded into view from a nearby wall. "You couldn't just let me watch," she said. "Fine, fine. Good luck, Tiny!" she added to Keith, and followed Acxa out.

Keith waited after they were gone, and then focused his mind. He'd found he could sense anything quintessence-powered if he concentrated. That included camoflaged life forms, and long-range bugs. But the bridge was clear. He slid into a chair and activated the comm. "This is Keith."

The screen flickered to life - and yes, that was Curtis on the other side. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

Keith blinked. "We're always kind of busy," he said. "Is something wrong?" An icicle was forming in Keith's stomach. "Is Shiro okay?"

Curtis raised a hand quickly. "He's okay," he said. "I mean he's not hurt, anyway. I just - I needed some answers and I did ask the others first, but Lance said I'd better talk to you."

"The _point_ , please," said Keith, now sitting hard on an urge to get the cruiser ready for takeoff. "Of course I'll help. Just tell me what's going on."

Curtis wasn't having an easy time of it. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have, and Keith wasn't the person he wanted to have it with. It meant he didn't respond very quickly. He was, visibly, trying to figure out how to say what he needed to. He settled on, "...Shiro's been having nightmares again."

"Again?" asked Keith. He was surprised they'd ever stopped. But then, Shiro _had_ looked relaxed at the wedding.

"They stopped after I moved in with him," said Curtis, avoiding Keith's eyes. "He said it had been years since he'd slept without the nightmares. It made him so happy that they were finally gone. I didn't realize just how bad they were. I never saw them. He hasn't had a full night's sleep without medication in two months. The doctors don't want to keep him on the medication because it can be addicting."

So. Not something to be solved by fighting something, or someone. Not something that could be solved by flying out there. That calmed something inside Keith, although not entirely. He didn't like the idea of Shiro becoming addicted to _anything_. "...Has he told you what the nightmares are about?" he asked. "Maybe it's important." He didn't want to say _maybe it's whatever-Allura-is-now trying to warn him of something_. He wasn't sure anyone had told Curtis about Allura's...transformation. Transcendence. Whatever.

"Sometimes," Curtis nodded. "I think it's from when he was a prisoner of the galra? Look - can you help with this, or not?"

"What exactly are you looking for me to do?" asked Keith, confused.

"I've been talking to some therapists," said Curtis carefully. "They think they can help Shiro work through this. But repressed memories are kind of notoriously unreliable. Any documentation you might have or anything you might know about that part of his life, they can use it to help guide his therapy. So he can sleep without the drugs."

Oh. Keith thought it over. Slave documentation was by number - but he did _know_ Shiro's slave number, and the clone's number too. The gladiatorial arena was in the old military hub, what had been Zarkon's and then Lotor's base. That would get Curtis the raw data - who Shiro had fought, and how well he'd come out of it, and when the battles were. He might be able to talk his shipmates into sending accounts of typical matches, even if they'd never seen one of Shiro's directly. The medical records would provide a barebones account of when the druids had taken Shiro's arm, although it might be _too_ barebones for an Earth therapist to really understand. He'd have to double check them before transmitting. "I think I can get you something to work with," he said. "It'll take a few days. Do you want it sent straight to you, or the therapists, or what?"

It was Curtis' turn to look thoughtful. "...To me," he decided at last. He tapped some keys off camera, and a code flashed. "This is my personal code. I'll make sure it gets to the people that need it." He paused. "And...thanks. I know this is...probably hard for you. Your mother explained." There was a small emphasis on the word _explained_ that suggested depth and detail had been involved. "I promise, I'm getting the best therapists on Earth for this."

"Just...keep me posted," said Keith. "Don't tell me he's fine if he's not. I don't care how much he hates it."

"Well I do," said Curtis. "And he does hate it. You know how he is about people treating him like he's fragile."

"I do," Keith agreed. "But I'm not doing that, and you know it. I don't know when he stopped being able to tell the difference."

"...I think it's not...one thing," said Curtis slowly, like he wasn't sure he should be saying anything at all. "I think it's everything. I think...you've saved him so many times that _he_ started thinking he's fragile. Because if he wasn't then why would you need to keep saving him. Or something. Personally I'm glad you did, but he gets...weird about it. I didn't tell him I'd be calling you. I don't think I'll be able to tell him how I get those files."

Ow. _That_ made sense. That made too much sense. Keith remembered vividly how irritated Shiro had gotten back in the early days, when people assumed that because he had a disability that he _couldn't_ do something. He'd broken a lot of records just to prove those people wrong, but they'd never stopped harping. Break this record, and they'd draw a line in the sand twenty feet down and say well, there was no way he could possibly break _that_ one. Always further, always farther. Proving to them that he wasn't _limited_ was, in a way, also proving it to himself.

But Keith ...had gone from the kid that Shiro taught how to fly the dangerous courses to the pilot that saved his life not once, but several times. To Keith the scales were always weighted in Shiro's favor; if Shiro hadn't found him, vouched for him (over and over, with no reason at all to keep sticking his neck out for him) Keith would never have become a pilot at all. But clearly, Shiro didn't see it that way. Keith saving him meant he _couldn't_ do it himself. And that someone else could. That was a hard limit to accept. Saying _I never meant it like that_ wouldn't mean a damn thing. 

"For my part I'm glad you're still willing to look out for him," Curtis repeated gently. "I promise you. I'll keep you posted. I'll take care of him."

The screen went black, but Keith didn't move for several minutes. It seemed such a vicious circle - he couldn't have _not_ saved Shiro. There was no part of him that could read that as a good or even acceptable idea. But the very fact that he had was what had turned Shiro against him? That...was just twisted. Keith had to hope those world-famous therapists Curtis had mentioned could untangle the mess, because it was well beyond Keith's ken.

When Acxa returned, with Ezor and Zethrid in tow, it felt like surfacing from deep water. "All sorted?"

"I believe the commander has seen the flaws in his logic," said Acxa. "What's our heading?"

"We're going to need to make a stop at the central defense station," said Keith. "I'll need to dig up some files. Then we can get this quintessence to the Olkari researchers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this may be a slow start. Think of it as a little bitty snowball being dropped on a steep slope...


	3. Paladins in Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much to fix. So much. Excuse me, but Hunk's about so much more than *food*, season eight show-writers.

> _Keith:_
> 
> _Thanks for the files. The doctors tell me your friends' reports of how arena matches usually went was very helpful. They've started walking Shiro through his memories using the files as a guide. The sessions are privacy locked; I don't know any more than you about what he tells them. But he's always exhausted afterward so we've taken to scheduling them for early evening. Might as well take advantage of the non-chemical sleep aid. I don't think his dreams are good ones, but here's to hope._
> 
> _Curtis._

~*~

It wasn't particularly what Keith wanted to hear. A very large part of him wanted to throw all other responsibilities into the bin and just go back to Shiro. Stay with him. _Help_ him. It took several minutes of deep breathing, during which time Kosmo made his way to the bridge to put his head in Keith's lap, to reassert control. He knew he couldn't just abandon his responsibilities - Shiro would never approve. And Shiro didn't _want_ him there, on Earth. Didn't _want_ his help. And there really wasn't anything more Keith could _do_ even if he disregarded all that and went anyway.

He knew all that. It was just a matter of ...well. Repeatedly kicking his hindbrain with steel-toed boots until it obeyed, even if it was never going to listen or change. Giving Kosmo scritches always helped. Fortunately the wolf knew that very well, and offered himself up for scritches on cue. 

Keith saved the message - he used them as a kind of timeline, to chart how things were progressing long term - and turned off the console. He really shouldn't keep Hunk waiting.

Hunk and Pidge had done very, very well for themselves in the aftermath of the war. One of several things they had in common was very few people truly realizing _how_ well - how many projects either of them truly had their hands in.

For example, everyone knew about Hunk's "diplomacy through better food" philosophy. Many of the more populated worlds held at least one of his new cooking schools, focusing on what he called 'galactic fusion' cuisine. Top graduates of those schools were already commanding insane salaries at embassies and diplomatic functions.

_Not_ everyone knew, because Hunk was a lot quieter about it, that Hunk was also making money hand over fist designing the ovens, timers, goo-mixers, cold storage units, water purifiers, air purifiers - there honestly wasn't a colony out there that didn't, knowingly or not, employ Hunk's machinery to keep its people alive. Keith was one of a small group that _did_ know; partly because he was Hunk's friend, and partly because his ship often served as Hunk's delivery vehicle when a colony was particularly far from the normal transit routes. Hunk was a genius at designing for specific needs. He was also good enough with the business side that - whether they knew it or not - the wealthier planets tended to pay more, allowing Hunk to offer custom work to the poorer worlds that needed it.

Dulta was a metals-rich world, and its people held their own on the interstellar stage by dint of superior forging and metalworking. For the galra, they'd been cruiser-builders; lately they'd been clear they were glad to branch out again.

And Hunk was arguing - gently, politely, but arguing - with a four-armed foreman. As Keith descended the main ramp of his ship to join them, he thought he heard something about uneven heating.

"Look man, if you've got a problem with the convection just tell your baby chefs to use a different part of the rack," grumbled the foreman, one arm waving to acknowledge Keith's arrival. "It's more than my time's worth to send an entire line to scrap over a minor flaw."

"That _minor flaw_ is the difference between a light, fluffy souflee and a pie in the face," said Hunk. "All I'm asking for is the perfection I paid for. I thought you guys'd take some pride in your work. Hello, Keith. Would you _tell_ this guy for me please?"

Keith momentarily froze, not expecting to be put on the spot like that - but it was Hunk. Skills he'd had to teach himself to be the black paladin kicked in. He turned to the foreman. "You don't eat the fancy stuff, I'm guessing."

"Who cares about food?" grumped the foreman. "The goo's got everything the body needs, you can down it in thirty ticks. Fifteen if you're in a rush. Which I am. You guys do realize I've got a schedule to keep?"

"So do I," said Keith calmly. "We're here to pick up five hundred ovens and seven hundred cold storage units. But there's no point taking them out there if they're flawed. I'd just have to bring them back. That wastes both our time even more than it already is. What's the problem with them? Can't you fix it?"

_"Can't you fix it?"_ the foreman echoed mockingly. "Do you have any idea how long it will take to recalibrate five hundred ovens?"

"Three vargas and twenty seven doboshes," said Hunk evenly. "I mean. Once you're done grousing. I'm not factoring in the grousing."

"That doesn't seem too bad," said Keith. "Especially compared to your name being attached to flawed goods. And very important people being upset because their dinner's burned, and your name coming up again then."

Four arms waved in angry surrender. "Fine! Fine! I'll get them recalibrated!" One look at Keith and Hunk's faces and - somewhat sourly - he added, "No charge, either. Now leave me to it!"

Hunk sighed in relief as the foreman stalked off, blowing a whistle to summon workmen. "Thanks man. He's definitely one of those 'food goo was good enough for grandpa' types." 

Keith shrugged. Honestly it hadn't been a big deal either way, but he was happy enough it had worked out. "The cold storage is fine, I take it?"

"Oh yeah," Hunk nodded. "Designed just for the Fronteans. Each unit is designed with a rod that sinks down to the planet's top temperature-stable layer, and extra vents to push the removed heat into energy cells that they can use for short-range vehicle fuel. Lot of sun on Frontea. Suns. They've got three. Lot of heat. Those people need an ice cream _stat_." 

Without warning, Hunk reached out, grabbed Keith by the shoulder, and pulled him in for an oxygen-depriving bearhug. Keith hugged back - really, only Hunk and Shiro had ever gotten that close in any kind of a nonthreatening way, and Keith found he missed it. The human side of him, he supposed. 

Letting him go, Hunk said, "Heard Shiro's not doing so well," in a quieter tone.

"Curtis tells me they're doing all they can," said Keith. "Lance and Pidge seem to agree with that. It's just...all catching up to him."

"I still have nightmares about the time the castle got possessed and we got attacked by food goo," said Hunk sagely. "I can only imagine what Shiro's nightmares are like."

Sometimes, Keith really had to wonder what Hunk's home life had been like, and whether he should envy it.

"How is everyone else?" he asked instead. 

"Oh, _well_ ," said Hunk, looking up as he went over the mental tally. "Pidge has this big theory going about the effect of quintessence-based fuel on vessels at or above a certain size. The Garrison really hated to hear Voltron took off, you know. And while the Atlas has a new captain, nobody's managed to make it do the ...you know, fywoom-swoosh-bzow-it's-got-legs thing that Shiro did. So they've been having Pidge poke at _why_ the Atlas transformed, and whether Earth can make anything else that will do that. And she's been working with the Olkari to see if she can make that happen, while her dad's been taking teludav technology to new heights. Sam hasn't _yet_ figured out a good way to make teludavs ship specific without locking navigation to a single species. He's working on it. And Lance...uh." Hunk paused. "If he didn't look so _contented_ every time I drop in on him I'd be worried, man. I mean you weren't there when Coran really ramped up our 'shows of arms' and stuff, but Lance was seriously living his best life at that point. I thought for sure he'd go into showbiz once the war was over. He's got some gardens in Cuba. I designed some greenhouses so he could grow Altean plants. I never would've pegged him for a florist, Keith. I don't get it at _all_. Next time you're on Earth - I mean I know, Shiro takes priority and all that - but if you could drop in on Lance too for a while, I'd appreciate it. I think maybe Allura screwed with his mind or something. Not that I think she _meant_ to, you understand. Just...I don't like it."

"Why don't _you_ drop in on him?" asked Keith curiously. "If you're so concerned. Your work takes you even more places than mine does."

"Probably for the same reason you haven't," Hunk replied. "We're out here. And okay, hyperspace jumps and wormholes _shorten_ distances, but Earth's still a long way away. There's whole galaxies of people the galra never conquered as Earth's neighbors, but that's not who _we're_ busy pulling out of the mud. It's not that I don't care, Keith. I do. I miss us all just...you know, hanging out on the castleship. I miss us all bouncing messages across the galaxies at each other. But times change. They've changed a _lot_ lately. And there's always a new problem right in front of me that needs fixing right _now_. I don't have _time_ anymore to look far away. I just have to hope if something comes up and they need me, they'll call."

"I hear you," Keith agreed, quietly and a little sadly. It was one of the things his new shipmates found _really_ baffling about humans, and more than a little scary. Many galra were, psychologically, in utter shock that an empire of ten thousand years was all but erased in less than ten. There were probably _still_ outposts that thought Zarkon was still emperor, and wondering where the supply ships had gone. But for humans, a decade was a signifcant chunk of time. Humans could - and just had - gone from 'aliens? there are aliens out there?' to being an interstellar _power_ in that time. And, as a species, humankind was just getting started.

For many galra, who measured life in centuries and millenia, this much change this quickly was honestly terrifying. Or in Acxa's case, fascinating. It was the primary reason there had been a faction that wanted Keith to be the next emperor - he was young and half human, if _anyone_ could keep pace with this new race it would be him. Keith had refused, of course. Not just because he hated the burdens he already had, but because it honestly wasn't a good way for the galra to deal with their fears.

It occurred to Keith that maybe that sense of _time_ had been part of Allura's last gift to Lance. Alteans had never been immortal. But they'd had a strong sense of time, and the need to adapt, and change, but not be headlong in a rush about it. Slowing down might be a reaction. Or maybe something else entirely. He made a note to check, next time he was on Earth.

"Man, you are _miles_ away," interjected Hunk's voice, derailing Keith's train of thought. "When's the last time you took a - no, wait, nevermind. The wedding, am I right?"

"That wasn't that long ago," Keith protested.

"Space will screw with your sense of time if you let it," Hunk warned. "Seriously. Timestamp _everything_. Your personal calendar if nothing else. Especially if you're worried about Shiro. Which of course you are. You need to be able to measure if things are happening quickly or slowly."

Keith nodded. Around them, the units Keith's ship was to transport were starting to move. The cold storage units first. Keith could make out Zethrid, just able to hear her irritated snarls as she made clear how much she hated being made to wait on a smoky, ashen-aired hellhole of a planet for people to get their asses in gear. "...Are _you_ worried about Shiro?" he asked. It wasn't something he could have asked anyone else, but Hunk was...well. A rock, really. Nothing shook him for long. Yellow Paladin forever.

Hunk wasn't a fool, either. He frowned at Keith. Studied him intently. Finally he took a deep breath. "Yes and no," he said at last. "That he's falling apart...of course I don't like hearing that. Who would? But I'm ...not really surprised, Keith. He's been through so much. More than all of us. Even you. And he was more alone than any human being has ever been when it did. That's something no magic Altean pod was ever going to fix. There's nothing I can build to help him. But he taught me everything I know about being a Paladin and I'm always going to _be_ a Paladin even though Voltron's gone. So ...that's what I'm doing. I'm ...doing, _being_ , who he taught me to be. Aren't you?"

Keith's smile was real, then. He did understand. He reached out a hand, clasped Hunk's shoulder, gave it a squeeze. "Since before I ever met you," he agreed.

Hunk nodded. "And if something comes up you can help with, you'll go. So, just so you know...the same's true for me. If you hear of something I can do, something to help him out, you just send me word, okay? I can't do magic, so don't ask for magic. But - you know. Sufficiently advanced technology and all that."

Keith looked blank. Hunk made a disgusted face. "Seriously? You never heard that line? Arthur C Clarke? - Jeez, Keith, do you even _read_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's Third Law: Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.
> 
> (Seriously. Voltron has had ever so much fun with this, there's no way I could've avoided using it.)


	4. Companions in Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The galra for the most part can't make much sense of Shiro's choices lately. But they'll do what they can regardless.
> 
> Imagine if you will a roller coaster. There's the long, slow, clack clack as the cars are hauled to the top of that first steep slope. 
> 
> Then there's that forever moment of pause, where the car seems to hang over the edge, before the plunge begins.
> 
> That's where we're at right now.

> _Keith:_
> 
> _The doctors say this is normal. I'm going to open with that, because it's the only good news I have. They swear this is normal for someone who's survived what Shiro's had to survive, and they can handle it._
> 
> _Two days ago Shiro woke up screaming. I thought it was just another nightmare at first, but he didn't snap out of it for several minutes after waking. Kind of trashed the bedroom. I don't think he realized most of the furniture was there and that cybernetic arm of his can really put holes in things. I was just about to call the emergency line when he just - snapped out of it. I've never seen him so ashamed._
> 
> _I promise you I've done all I can to reassure him. He turns off the power in his arm before bed now, just to be sure._
> 
> _The doctors tell me it's all part of his mind sorting through his memories. Things may seem real, or 'now', when they're really days of long ago. It'll pass when he's processed it all. I promise, I'll see him through this._
> 
> _Curtis._

~*~

It was getting harder and harder to sit on the urge to just turn the ship around and beeline for Earth. The messages kept _saying_ 'this is normal' and 'Shiro will be okay'. But the nightmares were getting worse and the flashbacks were getting more intense and just how was that _getting better_? What kind of weird universe was it where this was _improvement_?

It didn't help that Keith could very clearly picture just how ashamed Shiro must have been, to snap out of it and see the damage he'd done, the risk he'd put someone he'd loved in. How afraid he must be of his own mind to deliberately disable himself so he _couldn't_ hurt others.

Keith knew exactly what that expression looked like on Shiro's face. He'd seen it for days, weeks in the Black Lion, every time Shiro noticed the burn scar on Keith's cheek.

Keith hadn't been able to do anything to help then, either. 

Kosmo was, Keith was willing to swear, telepathic. At least receiving telepathic. The wolf knew when he was needed, and knew what needed doing even if Keith had no time to say it, or ask for it. He was slowing down growth wise too; Kosmo was now rather larger than a yupper, and in earth terms could probably body-chuck at least a small bear. So when Kosmo poofed into existence and pounced on Keith, Keith was well and truly pounced on. Zethrid was the only one still able to effectively push the wolf off her, and it was an open bet how long that would continue.

But Keith didn't mind. Getting whumped to the floor and determinedly licked and slobbered on was weirdly healing. And he'd gotten Hunk to build a nice, big wolf shower (with warm drying vents) so the wolf could stay clean at will. Kosmo had informally adopted the others on the crew as New Friends, and they had drawn the line at being whumped by a yupper-sized _smelly_ wolf.

When Kosmo had decided Keith was emotionally stable enough to be allowed to stand up, his face and hair were almost dripping. He didn't mind - much. That was what towels were for, and showers. Both of which were distracting activities. Distracting enough that he hadn't really been focusing on personal privacy, and was therefore very startled to find Ezor sitting in the lone chair in his personal quarters when he emerged from his shower wearing only a towel.

She grinned at him, wide and cheerfully wicked. "Not even any purple spots. Humans are very unusual. I mean, I've _met_ your mother. You've got her general shape and that's about it."

Keith was _not_ going to look down. "You could have tried knocking," he said.

"Why?" asked Ezor. "I mean, really, I was here first. Not my fault you weren't paying attention." She gave him a head-to-toe once-over, just because she knew he found it disturbing. "Bad news from Earth again?"

So much for wolf-whumps and showers. Keith frowned. "Are you keeping track?"

"Hate to break it to you but right now _everyone's_ keeping track," laughed Ezor. "We like you. And we owe you. And the whole situation with you and Earth kinda stinks right now."

Uh. "You don't owe me," Keith tried. "Nobody owes me anything."

"Ya think?" asked Ezor, smile fading a bit. "Zethrid was going to kill your mate. In front of you. Because she blamed you for my choices. Now...I'm not as galra as the rest of you. I can use luxite, open doors, that's about it. Just galra enough, as they used to say on my world. I don't _have_ a mate bond. I mean, not on my end. I didn't understand what Zethrid meant when she said she'd always take care of me. I didn't get just how far that can go. I've got a much better idea these days. So...yeah. I think I do owe you. You didn't just 'not kill' Zethrid. You saved her life. And then you saved _her_. You're...some kind of new, Keith. I mean it."

"You still don't owe me anything," said Keith. "I knew where she was coming from. That's all it was."

"And this thing on Earth?" asked Ezor. "If I took up with someone else I really don't know what Zethrid would do about it, but I don't think she'd do what you've been doing."

Keith took a deep breath, and - patiently, with rigid internal control - set about getting some damn clothes on, because having this discussion was bad enough without having to have it dripping wet and wearing a towel. "It's not like Zethrid and I have the same approach to things in general though," he said. 

"You do about this," said Ezor. "I was _there_ when Haggar used that clone as bait, Keith. Hook, line, and sinker, off you went. You were going to tear her ship apart to get to that clone and at that point he was basically a breathing body pillow. So. What are you going to do about this, now?"

Clothes. Clothes were nice. "There's nothing I _can_ do."

"There will be," said Ezor. "Unless things start getting better, which they haven't yet, there will be. And that's why I'm here. What's the plan, when that happens? You'll go, sure. What about us?"

That made Keith pause. "Uh. I don't ...know. I guess I figured you'd just find a new captain. We're getting more new Blades every movement. You all know enough to help with training them."

Ezor leaned back in Keith's chair like it was some kind of throne, smiling smugly. "And if we said we're going with you?"

"I'd ask why?" said Keith. "I mean...Earth's really still adjusting to the reality of interstellar life. And I'd be busy with Shiro. There's not a lot of excitement on Earth compared to what you're used to."

"There's two Paladins, and the Coalition assembly," said Ezor. "There's two founding Blades. And you know Acxa really wants to study humans now. Zethrid's heard of these creatures called elephants and she wants to try wrestling one. Or maybe capture a moose for a pet, you know like you and Kosmo."

"There's laws about those creatures," Keith warned. "Humans like protecting the rarer species of Earth. So she probably won't be allowed to tame them or wrestle them, but there are other big creatures she can probably play with. But what about you?"

Ezor shrugged. "Earth's still rebuilding. I could keep this ship running just carting supplies. There are a lot of uncharted worlds in that part of the universe."

That was...true, actually. There were a _lot_ of worlds in the stars near Earth, worlds the galra had never touched. Resources left, right and sideways that people could use. Of course, there were also some budding warlords out that way precisely _because_ that section of space was relatively uncharted. But that wouldn't bother a woman like Ezor.

Keith remembered the look in Shiro's eyes, years ago, when he'd talked about being the first to see the outer edges of the solar system. How he'd talked about pushing the frontier, seeing the unknown for the first time. The galra had taken that from him - that sense of wonder, of exploration. Keith wondered if Shiro had even really thought about seeing the worlds the empire had never reached, and whether, just maybe, it might help him get back something he'd lost.

"Are you here to bounce ideas or are you here to speak for the others?" Keith asked. 

"I'm here for all of us," Ezor nodded. "I got the short straw because it's starting to affect them when you get letters from earth. Sort of...sympathy-mate-bond-pain or something. They know what it feels like and they don't like that you're having to deal with it and they're just as stuck about doing something as you are. So rather than magnify the general bad mood, I got nominated as spokesgalra."

Keith winced at that. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't realize it was affecting everybody. I-"

"If the next thing to come out of your mouth is some kind of offer to leave so you don't bother anybody," Ezor warned with rather evil good cheer, "I have been told I get to kick your ass around this room until you stop it. Just saying."

Keith managed to bite his tongue on _you wish_ , but the way Ezor laughed suggested she could see it in his face. "There is no way Acxa said that," he said instead.

"She didn't argue or disagree when Zethrid did," said Ezor. "That's just as good. So. When are we going to head for Earth?"

Keith grabbed a brush and started getting his hair in enough order to ponytail. "You win. Okay. We'll clear our current cargo and I'll check back with Kolivan about swapping with a ship whose routes are nearer to Earth. It'll be one of our stops until Shiro gets better..." he took a deep breath, "or worse. But you don't get to captain by yourself. You and Zethrid will do it together."

Ezor shrugged. "Fair enough," she agreed. "I'll go tell the others while you talk to Earth."

~*~

Much like Daibazaal, Earth was home to a _part_ of Keith. Unfortunately, also like Daibazaal, that meant it was also utterly _alien_ to part of him, too. It was a split he'd lived with without ever really realizing it, until he'd gotten into space and everything was just...alien.

Galaxy Garrison Headquarters was a new structure, and in some ways it amused Keith that it had been sited on warm sunny tropical islands in the Atlantic. It amused him, because he'd spent several years now trying to sort out what in him was human, and what in him was galra. This new headquarters was very, very human. Oh, there was the usual executive desire for an office with a great view. There was always that. But there was also the human need to approach that which was new in a controlled, contained environment. Interstellar life was new. The cities - what was left of the cities - could handle an influx of strange beings, but _as a species_ humanity liked to know where its 'new and strange' contingent was until the hindbrain was reassured that the new-and-strange wasn't going to eat them in the middle of the night.

Siting the headquarters of the Garrison, where the representatives of the Galaxy Alliance would live and meet, _far away_ from other humans? Could not be an accident.

On that train of thought, Keith chose to wear his Marmora uniform rather than his Garrison uniform. Word had gotten around that the former leader of Voltron wasn't entirely human. It nagged at human hindbrains when something _looked_ human but didn't entirely _act_ human. It was wiser, therefore, to advertise that side of his heritage. It would mean he wasn't 'hiding'. 

The four Blades took one fighter down to the headquarters' main landing site, leaving the cruiser in stationary orbit. Discussion revolved mainly around getting an order in for a transport that wouldn't be quite so _cramped_ for four people - or three-plus-Zethrid, who might count as big enough for two. Krolia, wearing the regalia of a Daibazaal Representative (which looked an _awful lot_ like a Blade senior member's formal uniform) waited for them to disembark.

Keith, she greeted with a warm hug, and a kiss on the top of his head. He'd learned not to argue with it - and honestly, he'd spent so long without any kind of parent figure that he genuinely didn't mind except where public image with humanity might come into play. Acxa was greeted with a two-handed handclasp, and Ezor and Zethrid, with a nod acknowledging their salutes. To Acxa, she said, "I received your message. Kolivan wants to speak with the three of you before deciding. He's in the Daibazaal offices, waiting for you."

Somewhat to Keith's surprise - given they hadn't told him they'd sent a message ahead - all three women gave Keith a quick salute before striding off to the offices. "You've done well with them," Krolia said quietly as they left. 

"They didn't tell me they were talking to you," Keith pointed out.

"They wouldn't," said Krolia dryly. "They asked if they could be permanently assigned to you. I suspect they didn't want to embarrass you."

Keith blinked. "But...they know I won't be doing this much longer. Shiro's _not_ getting better."

Krolia set a gentle, large hand on Keith's shoulder, steering him gently but firmly to walk with her and let the landing crews get on with tending to his ship. "I have done what I can to remain informed on your mate's condition," she said. "However, humans have a great many laws about what information can be shared in these situations. I have settled on informing myself about the nature of his general condition. I am not certain Curtis is deceiving you, my son. I think humans have the ability, when under sufficient stress, to simply _draw in_ quintessence for an additional source of strength or stamina. But the ability seems to come with a heavy price, which Shiro must now pay. I will share my findings with you, but later. While you are correct and you will likely soon find yourself on Earth for an extended period, it is of more immediate concerns I need to speak with you."

"All right," said Keith, suspecting he wasn't going to like this at all. "What immediate concerns?"

His mother smiled at him, approving his suspicion. "For now, it is agreed you and your crew will assist in relief efforts here on Earth. There remains a great deal of rebuilding to be done, and the Garrison is working all hours trying to get a respectable defense force off the ground. There is, therefore, a great need for resources. And many of the nearby systems, while uninhabited in any real sense, do play home to would-be warlords and," she paused, thinking. "Earth word. Tip of the tongue. _Corporate interests_."

For a moment Keith thought about correcting her, but then decided no, her usage was about as correct as it was going to be. "And...?"

"Your companions wish to be assigned permanently to your service," said Krolia simply. "Kolivan is going to approve their request. After properly intimidating them, of course. He is justifiably proud of your skill set. You've learned a lot in a short time. Acxa seems a quick study as well."

Keith did not repeat the _aaand?_ , but his expression managed to do so for him. 

"The ship will fly with or without you on it," said Krolia. "But either way, you will need to provide direction. How you want situations handled. _Even if_ you find yourself called to your mate's side. I assume Acxa is your second?"

"Of course," said Keith, now wondering what Krolia thought he'd be doing, that she assumed he'd have time to take care of Shiro _and_ keep Zethrid from blowing up raiders. "Look - Shiro's not getting better. And if I'm even _allowed_ to help him he's probably going to be in really bad shape. I don't know that -"

"Keith." Krolia used the name like a lead weight. "I know how you feel, my son. I know, in fact, _exactly_ how you feel. You want to go to his side. Right now. Meet all of his healers, personally approve them and their course of care. Possibly put this Curtis fellow under constant surveillance, just to be sure he really is doing _everything_ he can for Shiro."

Keith closed his eyes, embarrassed. "...Yes."

Krolia curled one finger under his chin, so he had to look up at her, but without her claw digging into his skin. "No," she said quietly. "Don't be ashamed of who you are. I don't think Shiro would have made it this far if you had not chosen him, fought for him so often and so well. But we are more than our instincts. We have to be. _You_ , in specific and in particular, have to be. The man I saw in your memories, the Shiro you love and the Shiro you chose, would not respect you _or_ himself if you were to drop every other aspect of your life to care for him. You are galra. He will need you to be strong. You will show him that you are."

"And I am human," said Keith quietly. Just a little bitterly.

Krolia didn't answer that immediately. She studied Keith's face almost as if lost in thought. "Yes," she said at last. Softly, but without sorrow or regret. There might even be quiet pride. "But you are the son of a human who gave his life to save those in danger, those weaker than himself. I wish ...that he were here to advise you how to do so this time. But you have spent the past few years teaching this skill to the galra, my son, and in all honesty I am not sure even your father would have very much to teach you about it now. Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid wish to enter your service, Keith. Kolivan is going to approve. _Let them help you_. That is what they want to do, and they will learn a great deal if you allow them to."

Keith just frowned up at her. If there was sense in this advice, it was going right past him.

But Krolia had apparently decided words had gone as far as they were going to. "Well. You will have them whether you wish it or not. I am confident you'll figure it out. In the meantime, let's go over your new route. You'll be visiting fewer planets, and more swap moons. And when the inevitable happens, try to remember to contact me _first_."


	5. We Come In Peace, Shoot To Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so much to fix. So much. And one more paladin yet after this.
> 
> I've always admired Pidge's innate sense of paranoia. That and her utter willingness to say that she may have heard the order, but as it's a stupidass order she's electing to ignore it.

> _Keith:_
> 
> _Firstly, Shiro is going to be okay and there isn't anything you can do for him that isn't already being done. (Your mother said I should make sure to say that first.)_
> 
> _Shiro has voluntarily checked himself into a clinic. I repeat, Shiro is going to be okay._
> 
> _The therapy for his PTSD has, according to every doctor I've spoken to (and I have spoken to a lot in the last few months) going as well as can be hoped for. He's recovered at least most of his memories of his time as a prisoner of war. It's just...that's a lot. The last time humans treated other humans the way Shiro has been treated we don't have accurate or complete historical records for. We do have significantly better medical treatments and a better understanding of the human brain, and that's making up for the lack of documentation._
> 
> _But Shiro doesn't have a choice now. He has to devote all his time, all his energy, to dealing with this. He needs to be under constant surveillance because he can slip into flashbacks at any time and he doesn't want to hurt anyone, or destroy the house._
> 
> _No. He isn't happy. Neither am I. And he isn't healthy at the moment. But everyone who knows anything about this sort of problem has told me over and over that he'll get better. So I'm passing the message on._
> 
> _Curtis._
> 
> _P.S. Attached are the personnel files of every doctor assigned to Shiro's case. And their supervisors. And a report on the track record of the clinic he's at for treating trauma and PTSD. And the track record and personnel file of the clinic's director. I gave Pidge the names and places and this is everything she could dig up. So you don't have to take my word for it._

~*~

They'd gotten their wish, as Krolia had told him they would. Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid called him 'sir' now - at least, when they remembered to. Keith had thought they would, therefore, be treating him the way they'd treated Lotor.

Either he was dead wrong about that, or their relationship with Lotor had been even more complicated than it had seemed when viewed from the outside. In all honesty the three women treated their new commander as if he were some kind of pedigree puppy or kitten. Oh they listened to his orders, and obeyed them as long as they were mission related, but once you got into realms best categorized as _personal_...

In other words, when the message from Earth arrived, Keith wasn't alone on the bridge. 

His immediate response to the message - and he really only got as far as 'checked into a clinic' - was to head for the navigational console, to change course for Earth. Ezor executed an excellent flying kick to knock him away, and Acxa called for Kosmo to 'get him to his quarters and keep him there'. This resulted in Keith being all but smothered under helpful wolf fur and then pinned to the ground by the simple expedient of Kosmo lying down on top of him. He couldn't get clear without injuring the wolf, and he wasn't going to injure one loved one to get to another. But it didn't change the _need_ to go back. Go to Earth. Surely now was the time. He knew about mental institutions. He knew nothing good happened in them, for one thing. He'd had nightmares, as a child, before Shiro, of being sent to one. Nobody he'd known had ever come back.

When he didn't stop struggling, Kosmo wriggled back a bit. Kept Keith pinned between his paws, and determinedly licked Keith's face until the spring that had wound tight inside him uncoiled enough to let the tears out, hugging the wolf tightly.

Perhaps, if he had been fully human, that would have resolved the tension. As it was, it didn't. He could still feel the drive to _get to Shiro_. That hadn't gone anywhere. But the panic had eased, and he had time to wonder why - while in no way letting go of the wolf - before there was a knock at his door. "Commander?" came Acxa's calm query.

Kosmo politely got off him. Keith's hair was a slobbered-on mess, but that was probably the least of his worries. He got to his feet - keeping an arm around Kosmo - and answered, "It's fine. Come in."

Acxa opened the door and stepped into Keith's quarters, entirely respectfully - and also entirely unapologetic. "We've decided it will probably be wiser if you receive messages from Earth in your quarters, Commander."

Keith sighed, pushing wolf-lick-damp hair out of his eyes. "...Agreed," he said quietly. "I suppose I should...thank Ezor." 

"Her pleasure, commander, I promise you," said Acxa dryly. She held out a tablet. "I copied the message and its attachments to this, so you could finish it." She paused. "...May I ask you something?"

Keith took the offering carefully. "Um. Sure, I guess. What is it?"

"You can't have finished all of this in the time you had," said Acxa. "What was so disturbing?"

So, basically, exactly what he'd been wondering about, but from the other direction. "I ...don't trust clinics," he said slowly. _Asylum. Call it what it is._ But calling it something else wouldn't help Acxa understand. 

She was, honestly, giving him a very puzzled look. "You are all right with Earth's healers," she said. "But not ...groups of healers? What is a clinic?"

Keith made himself pet Kosmo. Not because the wolf needed the attention, but because _he_ needed to keep a better grip on himself, and the rhythmic action helped. "When someone needs constant monitoring, they're sent to a clinic," he said slowly. "And I'm...sure there are good ones. Curtis probably chose the best he could find. But there are bad ones, too. Places that once you're in, you won't get out. Where people can hurt you and no one will believe you if you say anything. I ...knew people. A long time ago. They were sent to the clinics and never came back." Deep breaths. "I'm sure that's not where Curtis sent Shiro." And if he turned out to be wrong in that belief, Curtis was in for a _world_ of hurt - but it was better not to think about that right now. 

Acxa nodded. "I see. Human fear and galra instinct. I understand. Are you in control now?" The question was posed politely, as if it were just...something that happened. Like being snappish because you'd missed your morning coffee. And maybe for her it was. He _was_ on a ship of part-galra. Though he'd never seen any of the others have a reaction like that. Acxa noticed his drop-jawed staring and smiled ruefully. "You're still young," she said. "This is a situation that has all of _us_ on edge, and we're quite a bit older than you. And it does seem you haven't had many cases where both halves of you were in agreement. It's _all right_ , Keith. To be fair, we've been expecting something like this for weeks." She paused. "Though now it's brought up, I think I will ask Krolia to send me books about these clinics."

"Asylums," said Keith quietly. "Curtis was being polite. They're called asylums. If Krolia looks up clinics you'll get too general a response."

Acxa echoed the word, "Asylums," as if tasting it on the tongue, and nodded. "Stay here," she advised. "Finish reading the message and attachments. I'll keep us on course. Let me know if we need to request a wormhole to send you to Earth, and I'll see it's done."

Keith tried to keep the burning embarrassment out of his voice, and stuck to, "Thanks," until Acxa had left again.

The plus side of being on this ship was everyone understood basic galra nature. The downside was feeling, incredibly frequently, like he was going through a kind of second puberty.

~*~

A shower and change later, Keith finished the message and made sure to go through every attachment with attention and care. On paper, at least, Curtis did seem to have done his homework. Or more likely had had Pidge do it for him. These weren't just official personnel files. Pidge had been known to take a 'privacy? what's that?' approach when it came to people she cared about, and she could be pretty paranoid. Keith had always approved of that about her, and didn't seem on course to change his mind any time soon. Pidge had delved into the lives and personal histories of every doctor with any connection to Shiro's treatments, and Acxa wasn't wrong - there was a _lot_ of data to sift through. There was no indication, anywhere, that any of these doctors had so much as had the vague inclination to take advantage of their patients. They were leaders in their respective fields, and each had published papers that Pidge helpfully summarized in small words, along with notes about how their research approaches might affect Shiro's treatment.

The worst thing Pidge had to say about any of them was that it was at least possible some might be tempted to make a mint off of writing a book about their process once Shiro was better. While that didn't improve Keith's mood at all, Pidge did add the note that they could only do this if Shiro got better first, so Shiro would logically have a say in it. And the clinic itself might win a few awards for treating such a famous person, but again, by the time they could, Shiro would be able to have an opinion about it.

None of it really eased Keith's fears. Asylums - asylums were the stop of last resort for 'problem children', and Keith had absolutely been a problem child. More than one kid in the foster system had been sent to the asylums when they'd acted up or acted out one time too many for their foster families to put up with. Some homes had used it as an open threat - _keep this up and we'll send you to the asylum_. And not one kid Keith had known who'd been shipped off that way had ever come back. He'd heard horror stories, too many to count, of what went on in 'the nuthouse'. You had no rights if you were a patient. You were, by definition, insane and not in control of yourself. And _that_ was the heart of his fear for Shiro. He'd checked himself in; now he was _there_ until the doctors deemed it all right to release him. And Keith had never heard of anyone being released. Ever. He could tell himself that logically, surely, people _did_ get released. But everything he knew told him someone had to be watching out for Shiro. Someone not connected to the clinic. 

He _wanted_ to do that himself. Wanted that so much it hurt. But he knew Shiro. If he'd checked himself in, he was genuinely afraid he'd hurt someone. And he was, guaranteed, already deeply ashamed to need this level of help, and even more ashamed to have to ask strangers for it. If Keith were the one to watch over him...

Well, bluntly, Shiro might never forgive him. If Keith had already saved him too many times, then Keith playing the distant nanny while Shiro was at his weakest would be intolerable. It wouldn't matter to Shiro what Keith's reasons were, or if they were good ones.

But there were other options.

Keith sat at the console in his quarters, and opened up a priority, secure line to Garrison HQ. It took a few minutes - which Keith viewed to be pretty much normal, considering - and then Pidge's face appeared on the screen. She'd abandoned the affectation of glasses now, and her Garrison uniform - orange now, not green - said she was a commander. Her opening comment, "Less than one day. Lance owes me twenty," told him that fundamentally, she hadn't changed.

"So you were expecting me," Keith replied.

"After Curtis had me looking all those people up?" said Pidge. "Of course it wasn't going to be enough. I mean, it was enough for _him_ , but let's face it, he's kind of sheltered. Are you coming back now, then?"

_Yes._ It almost got out before Keith could bite his lip on it. "Shiro wouldn't forgive me, if I did that right now," he said instead, as much to remind himself as tell her.

Pidge's arms crossed over her chest. "And he's checked himself into an asylum, which is _by definition_ an admission that he's in no state to make rational decisions." She leaned toward the camera, peering at the image of Keith on her screen. "Though now I'm starting to wonder about you, too. You do _not_ look okay."

"I don't like asylums," was the answer Keith settled for.

"Who does?" shrugged Pidge, but she was frowning. "You're _not_ coming back yet," she deduced. "But you want to. Why aren't you? And don't tell me again about Shiro forgiving you. That wouldn't stop you if -"

"Maybe you'd better tell me why you were expecting me to," snapped Keith, rather more sharply than he meant it, but this felt like Pidge knew something she wasn't saying. Something that _would_ be enough of a reason. Something she'd expected him to already know?

For answer, still frowning, Pidge made a gestue near her face - adjusting glasses that weren't there. For a moment, on the screen, they _were_ \- a computer-generated overlay. On the lenses flashed the words 'top secret', for just a fraction of a second. "This is honestly a discussion better had here," she said. "It'd be better if I can show you. When will you be back to drop off supplies?"

Keith pulled up another window, checking their course. Acxa was keeping them on schedule. "Another two quintants," he said. "Superconductive minerals."

Pidge grinned a delighted and slightly evil grin. "Oh, I love days when that's the cargo," she said gleefully. "When you're back in orbit, come see me. And I mean immediately, Keith. Now excuse me. I need to make sure neither of our consoles retains any byte of our conversation." 

Her image blinked out, to be replaced by that odd bouncing-head graphic that meant she was doing something to his console. Keith got up to go lean against Kosmo, who nuzzled him affectionately while he thought it over. 

One thing stood out. Pidge believed she had enough reason - enough reason by human standards, yet - to justify Keith interfering in Shiro's life and marriage. 

He tried not to get _too_ hopeful. Keith knew Pidge quite well, and Pidge - and frankly the Holts in general - had a sometimes overly-relaxed attitude toward human rules, and a 'better to ask forgiveness than permission' approach. What was enough for Pidge might not be enough for Shiro. Or, for that matter, a judge. 

But he couldn't help being hopeful anyway. He did _not_ trust asylums, no matter how high-end they might be. And gods above and below, he missed Shiro.

~*~

The supply run was not entirely uneventful, as superconductive minerals were the kind of material that several corporations had a vested interest in owning all of - and more accurately, making sure nobody else owned any of. The Galactic Coalition had not yet established a law for gathering resources from uninhabited systems, so it was still very much a case of 'if you take it and can keep it, it's yours'. Zethrid manned the bridge (and all the cruiser's many, many weapons) while Keith, Acxa and Ezor took the fighters (which had upgraded weapons systems) out to defend their haul. In a way, having simple problems like fighting against about twice as many ships as they had was therapeutic. People problems were exponentially harder.

Acxa insisted on coming with him when they got back to Earth, though. As she put it, if Pidge was right and Keith _would_ now be staying on Earth, she would need to know what to tell the others. Besides; she had a Garrison uniform, from her time on the Atlas. She didn't still have the clearances, but the uniform would keep her from drawing too much suspicion.

Keith kept the 'paladin' colors on his uniform. He wasn't part of the Garrison, hadn't been since _before_ he'd become a paladin, and while he was willing to work with them, he was simply unable to forget that when Shiro had gone missing, they'd been quick not only to label him dead, but _at fault_ so as to cover their own reputations. He would work with the Garrison. He would defend Earth if it needed defending. But he would never _trust_ the Garrison again.

Pidge seemed to expect nothing else; at least, as they disembarked the fighter and approached, she didn't seem surprised to see either of them. She'd grown, but so had Keith, so she remained the shortest in the group. "Good to see you," she said in a pleasant, we're-being-watched tone. "You're going to want to come with me."

Acxa shot Keith an alarmed look - from a galra standpoint this had 'trap' written all over it in very, very large letters. Keith shook his head at her, very slightly, and moved to follow Pidge. Acxa, lips thinning, followed.

Pidge led them past several security checkpoints, each more rigorous than the last. Each less happy she had guests than the last, too, though no one argued with her about it. As they walked through a particularly large hangar, she said, "The next generation of Earth's defenses. I'm honestly kind of proud of them. Air, land, _and_ sea defense. Did Lance ever tell you he talked a bunch of those mermaid friends of his into moving into the Atlantic? We had some interesting challenges making it so their representatives could attend Coalition meetings." But she didn't stop, so the two Blades only got a brief look at the collection of vehicles before they reached another checkpoint.

Finally, they approached not a checkpoint, but a secure door. Pidge gave it a fingerprint and a retinal scan - and then a fingerprick. The door opened and she said over her shoulder, "That last one's to catch any clones. I hate having to bandage my fingers, but a fresh DNA scan is the best we can do to catch clones." She closed the door and frowned up at Keith, then at Acxa. "Now. Seriously. What's keeping you from going to Shiro?"

Keith blinked. "Curtis," he said simply. "Shiro chose Curtis. He trusts Curtis to handle this. I have to respect his choice." Under Pidge's seriously-are-you-stupid glare, he wavered. "...Don't I?"

"That _is_ how we understand human laws and customs to work," interjected Acxa. And she _wasn't_ wavering. Keith was her commander now, and she would defend him.

Pidge seemed to find that display of loyalty surprising. She flopped into a wheeled office chair, sighing. "Keith, sometimes you need to be less honorable and more sneaky. Lucky for you, I have your back."

"Shiro's not going to get upset with _both_ of us over whatever you've got planned, is he?" Keith demanded.

"You tell me," shrugged Pidge, and hit a button at her console. Screens around the office sprang to life, and the Blades realized Pidge had hacked every security camera at Shiro's clinic. 

"This is definitely not legal," Acxa said, bending to study a screen. She didn't sound upset about it - if anything, there was admiration, and approval. To Keith, she said, "I like her."

Pidge grinned. "I get that a lot."

Keith might have clarified for Pidge that it wasn't the law-breaking Acxa was admiring so much as the direct approach to problem solving. But one of the screens showed Shiro, in one of those relatively bare rooms you got in places like that. Plain sheets and blankets, no personal touches, no color or life. A chair by the bed, a few books. 

Shiro had lost a lot of weight. It made the connection for his cybernetic arm look huge on him. The light was off and the hand was nowhere to be seen. He'd lost no muscle mass, which made him look incredibly wiry and a little withered. If you didn't know his white hair was a side effect of events, it wouldn't be hard to guess Shiro's age as thirty or even forty years older than he really was. Or maybe it was just the effect of seeing him on a little screen via security camera. Keith's hand reached out to it involuntarily, absorbed in watching the little image doing one-handed pushups. _Shiro..._

"The daily reports say he's underweight but physically healthy," said Pidge conversationally. "I keep a very close eye on things. I'm not big on trusting other people to make my decisions for me - it's one thing Shiro and I always agreed about. They've got his arm, by the way. It's in a secure closet, and only the clinic's director has the passcode. Well. And me, of course, but they don't know that." She pointed to one of the other screens, which showed a closed door. "I have programs in place designed to alert me if anyone so much as walks past that door, and every time someone visits Shiro."

"...You know he'd be really upset if he knew you did this," said Keith quietly. He couldn't make himself look away though. 

"I'm not you," said Pidge simply. "He knows me. If he _didn't_ expect me to do _exactly_ what I'm doing then frankly he's in worse shape than I thought. I'm not recording his therapy sessions, Keith. I'm not interested in his secrets, and I don't honestly care if he doesn't like me doing this. Paladins look after our own." She paused. "That's what's stopping you, though, isn't it. That he'd be mad at you."

Keith just nodded. God, Shiro looked so...tired, so defeated. Like there was nothing to do but wait for the next betrayal of his own mind. And maybe he was right, too. There wasn't much in that room. "Can you visit him?" he asked. "Can Lance?"

"Sure," said Pidge. "At least, in theory. I don't come in here often, Keith. I've got programs set up to record unusual activity and alert me, but I've got a lot to do here." She sighed. "You have no idea how dangerous the ground the Garrison's been treading is. We're doing what we can to keep the place on course, but it's taking the whole family, Keith. Humanity's shaking off the shock of the galra occupation and speaking at a species level, it's starting to get angry."

Making himself look away from Shiro's exercising, Keith turned his attention to Pidge with a frown. "Angry."

"You didn't honestly think humanity could take the kind of beating it took and not want a little revenge?" asked Pidge. "We'd just figured out how to co-exist with ourselves without blowing anything up, and here comes Sendak to kill off a solid third of the human race because he wants _robot cats_. Most people don't know much about what Voltron really was, or what it could do. What they _know_ is they've lost friends and family and homes and _homelands_ to the first alien race to say hello. And they want more than anything to make sure that never. happens. again." She waved a hand at the door. "And they're signing up in _droves_ , Keith. There's military recruitment going on at a global level and an epic scale. Every Garrison school is packed. They're taking only the top two percent of applicants and there's a waiting line years long for each one. And on top of that, the top brass _really_ don't like that Voltron's gone. They don't like the word 'gone'. Gone means maybe some _other_ race has all five. And maybe next time it's not Sendak coming to kick our butts, but Voltron itself. This?" she waved a hand at the screens. "Shiro is the only person to make the IGF Atlas transform. Ever. The Garrison's compromise for him getting checked into a clinic was making sure he doesn't spill any state secrets. All the work I did for Curtis, I also had to turn in to Garrison command. I'm also under orders to find out how Shiro did it. How he made the Atlas transform like that. Because they want a new Voltron, Keith. One made by humans, to defend Earth first. Those ships I showed you on the way in? Those are the parts. I'm no Alfor, and I'm definitely no alchemist, but the budget for this is just about limitless."

"I thought humans wanted peace in the galaxy," said Acxa shortly. "That was a lie?"

"No," said Keith quietly. "This is human instinct. They were hurt, and badly. Humankind can't be reasonable unless it's in a position where it can choose to be kind. That means not being in a position where another race can arm-twist them or threaten them. Sendak made them afraid. Really afraid. That might work on most species but with humans it makes them desperate and dangerous. They'll choose not to be a human empire...probably. But first they're driven to reach a point where that's actually an option." He nodded toward Pidge. "You're slowing things down to give them time to calm down."

"Yes," said Pidge. "But I'm also making sure - and so is the rest of my family - that if we can't, if this goes badly, that we can get clear. The Garrison locked my dad up for trying to warn them. They tried to keep Mom from being with him. They tried to keep _me_ from finding out what really happened on the Kerberos mission." She gave Keith a level, steely look. "If you think I'd trust them to treat my family right ever ever again, you're crazy. And Shiro's family too, whether he likes it or not. I've made sure that if the wrong people start running the Garrison, I'll have time and warning to get Shiro, Lance, and my family off planet, and you and Hunk would get warnings to steer clear of Earth. Sometimes you can't stop the stupid - sometimes you've just got to survive it."

That made Acxa wince in a 'been there, done that' way. To Keith she said, "It seems the Blades may still be needed for their original purpose."

"They never stopped," said Keith quietly. "But for now we watch and listen." He nodded to Pidge. "You may want to talk to Krolia, and Kolivan. They could help you."

"If I'm seen talking to either of them, my clearances would be revoked so fast it would make your head spin," said Pidge seriously. "I'm telling you two so _you_ can tell them. We've got time, still. I'm working on creating a private, paladins-only network. I'm going to need you, or you," and she nodded to Acxa, "to deliver the parts, when I get it done. I can't be seen to send it out. If the Garrison finds out I have a private network they can't monitor," she made a little 'foom' gesture with her hands. "Now. I've filled you in. Are you staying?"

"...Not...yet," said Keith, though the two words were incredibly difficult to say. "You're right. There's a need for a private network and ...I'm really the only one who's got the right cover story. You've got Shiro under surveillance. You can tell me if anything happens that I can help with, that he wouldn't be angry about."

"You're seriously not going to go to him?" asked Pidge, stunned. "But Keith -"

"Paladins first," Keith snapped. "You said it yourself. He'd agree with you, Pidge. You know he would. Let's get your safety net finished. When I catch Shiro up, he'll be a lot happier to know you'll all be safe, that there's a way out. Especially for your father and brother. I don't think he could handle failing them." He nodded to Acxa. "If something happens, where I'm needed specifically, then Acxa and the others can see the remainder of that work done - if you can get to them. We'll have to make sure you can. But until then it's better if I handle this. For now, at least, I'm probably still untouchable."

Pidge almost scowled. "...You're right," she conceded grudgingly. "The Black Paladin can still go pretty much anywhere. Nobody's going to want to tell you no, even if you are half alien. That doesn't go for your crew." She took a deep breath. " _Fine_. I'll make sure to get these pieces put together. If I can just get them _to_ you, your crew can deliver them even if you're not there. But ...you're right. They can't get into this part of the Garrison without you so that's got to be the priority work."

"Pieces will be fine," said Acxa. "Provided you include assembly instructions. It won't be the first time I've put something together sight unseen."

Keith turned to the screen that monitored Shiro's room. The pushups had stopped. Something else was happening now. Keith watched as Shiro acted as if under fire, using one side of the room's bed as cover. 

Pidge looked past Keith. "...Sunset," she said. "At least, sunset where he is. The quality of the light around sunset seems to be a trigger. Too red, I think. He'll snap out of it in a few minutes. They've already taken away anything he could use as a weapon."

The calm, matter-of-fact way she said it almost broke Keith's heart. "...Could you at least call Lance and have him send the mice to keep him company?" he asked. "They're smart. They could get under cover when he's...but he'd at least have something around to talk to."

"I don't know that he even likes those mice," said Pidge, surprised. "But sure, I'll ask." She got out of the chair to pat Keith's arm. "He's going to be okay. Really. There's people keeping an eye on him. The doctors come to talk to him for hours every day. I've skimmed their notes. He's just got a lot to work through. Everything he spared my dad and brother from having to deal with. But he really will be okay."

Keith made himself look away from the screen. He really, really wished people would stop telling him that.


	6. The Clock Strikes Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one took some thought, but with an update on the last Paladin, the stage is set. Lance was never my favorite paladin, but I have done my best to wrestle his epilogue into something that makes sense. Lance-fen, you may sit in judgment.

The work was slow. To avoid detection, it had to be. Slow, and very very careful.

Pidge had worked it all out.

First was creating the devices themselves. The Galra Empire had not, in truth, been particularly innovative over the ten thousand years of Zarkon's reign. For the most part, they'd survived and dominated by overwhelming more creative races and then taking and adapting their work for Imperial use. However, in one specific area the Empire had had a genuinely unique need - and that was for communication, in real time, across immense distances. Zarkon could be twenty galaxies away; he still would want to know developments at the farthest frontiers of his ever expanding territory. Pidge had started from there - the technology itself depended, as everything of the old Empire had, on processed quintessence, and altered crystals. So she'd had to figure out _why_ the technology worked, and then figure out from that how to make untampered Balmera crystals do the job.

Then there was making a network that was as secure as possible even from outside detection, never mind tampering. Again, she'd started with everything she knew about galra fleet communications, and then worked with her father and brother to create a system even more byzantine and complex. There was, truly, no such thing as a genuinely unbreakable code. But there was absolutely such a thing as a code so twisted and complex that code breakers would drive themselves batty trying to decipher it.

After all of that was the relatively simple matter of creating the consoles, and then finding ways to take them apart so that the pieces seemed innocuous and safe until a capable hand reassembled them.

The first console was in Casa Holt - it had saved considerable time and debate to simply make it a 'household' console, rather than one individual one for every family member. The Holts had been separated too widely and for too long; their attitude to separation now was to treat it as an overt threat.

The second went on Keith's ship. Ezor kept an eye on it most often - it seemed Pidge had deeply missed having people outside the family to talk to, and while Ezor understood one word in ten of the technobabble she was nevertheless an avidly interested listener. 

To avoid suspicion, the ship did not go from Pidge's facility directly to the Coalition headquarters where Krolia and Kolivan lived and worked. Instead they returned to their normal route - survival and terraforming equipment to swap moons, where they were traded for minerals that were rare to nonexistent on Earth, and then out to a new system to map it out, determine any useful resources that might be worth setting up a team to gather them, fill the hold with whatever happened to be there of any use, and back to Earth. Each trip took a few Earth weeks, sometimes a month if there was a lot to trade. Curtis sent copies - literal photocopies from what Keith could tell - of the reports he received from the clinic, without commentary. It would have driven Keith to go back to Earth on its own if it hadn't been supplemented by Pidge's near daily calls. While she happily relayed the daily news of what _everyone_ was up to, to the best of her knowledge, she would throw in any tidbits of Shiro's condition that she had as well. They weren't much, usually. 'There was some kind of discussion about the food', or 'The mice are really good at charades', or 'He slept in today', or 'Lance sent him a new book, he spent the daylight hours reading it when the doctors weren't there'. But paired with the dry, clinical reports, they were enough to keep Keith focused on what he was starting to think of as his last mission.

He knew Shiro. The universe was changing - some of it very much for the better, other things not so much. It was important that friends and family be kept safe. Once that was done...

But one good thing was that Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid underwent their final Trials, and were given their Blades. All three of them had an easier time than he had - but then, they were older, and had survived more. They didn't have the same questions Keith did; they'd already done their soul searching, and knew where they stood. And now, they stood with the Blade of Marmora. 

Acxa, and really only Acxa, seemed at all troubled to find out the Blades remained a spy organization. "I thought we were helping people," she said, for Keith's ears only.

"We are," Keith replied. "We're helping _people_. People will always need help. There are always the ones that fall through the cracks, or take the hits hardest."

"Spying is _not_ honorable," said Acxa, sourly. "We knew about the Blade when we served Lotor. We stayed with Lotor because we could act openly."

"You're acting openly now," Keith pointed out. "You're not acting against any people. You haven't been asked to. You won't be."

"That isn't how these processes develop," Acxa warned. "It's for a good cause is a phrase that leads to a lot of harm."

Keith sighed. "Yeah. Yeah it does. But so does blind faith in governments - any governments. Power tends to concentrate, over time, into the hands of fewer and fewer people who get more and more out of touch with the rest of the universe. That's not a slight against any person, or even any species. It's just how power works. And it always, always goes bad. That's what the Blade of Marmora is changing for, to stop it happening again. Zarkon is dead. Lotor is dead. Honerva is gone. That mission's accomplished. The harder one is making sure the same problem doesn't crop up on a different world. We don't want to replace one empire with another. And when it starts again, and it will, that we _helped people_ and didn't hide away in remote bases will matter."

Acxa regarded her new Blade moodily. It was beautiful, of course. A slender stiletto blade, sharply pointed. It would extend into a rapier if she chose. Right now, she didn't. "You realize that from what your friend told us, the next empire will be a human one."

"It could," Keith nodded. "If the wrong people get into the right places. But it can be slowed down, if other people know what to watch for, what to stop. It might be able to be stopped. That's why we listen. That's why we report back. Kolivan's not going to keep secrets from the Blades anymore. We don't need that. We _need_ people willing to help, who have enough information to actually _be helpful_."

"If he does, I will be rethinking my allegiances," Acxa warned. "Your species is ...very different. I had thought that was a positive change, but I'm not so sure now."

"Nobody's perfect," said Keith. "Once I go back I'm guessing it'll be maybe a quintant before I'm reminded that I'm only half human, and I never got the user manual."

He got a small smile for that, one of Acxa's 'damn you're a young puppy' smiles. "We will miss you. Pidge has promised that you will be able to reach the consoles once you go. A house? Something your mother had built?"

Keith frowned. His mother _had_ rebuilt his father's house - a structure that honestly, Keith barely and only vaguely remembered. Images from his mother's memories, that he'd seen in the quantum abyss, were much clearer. He wasn't honestly sure he ever wanted to set foot in the place. But there probably weren't many places to site a console that would be at all secure. Pidge could watch that house from orbit; it was far enough off any kind of track, beaten or not, that anyone trying to break in would need to get there first. It was entirely possible Pidge had orbital lasers at her fingertips by now. "I'll stay in touch," was all he said.

~*~

The first real delivery was out to Hunk. This time, that involved Hunk coming to them - their route was registered with the Garrison now, and showing up late would raise flags. Hunk had his own ship - and by 'his own ship', it was meant that he'd designed and built the entire thing. Given Hunk was a designer of no small skill, one might have been justified in expecting a sleek, powerful vessel. It didn't surprise Keith at all that Hunk had basically built for himself the equivalent of a space jeep. It could go anywhere, could navigate weird magnetic poles and opaque gas clouds and intergalactic voids, and its inner construction was sturdy yet simple enough to be easily repaired even hundreds of light years from any kind of resources. It wasn't the Yellow Lion, but Hunk had tried. He'd really tried. The ship even had a kind of activatable mirror plating that meant anyone trying to aim a zaiforge cannon at it would get destroyed via cosmic disco ball.

He patted the hull affectionately. "When I get it down to a more economically viable build," he promised, "I'll be taking the design public."

Keith firmly ignored his crewmates, who all wore _who would want to fly a space studabaker?_ expressions. "Anyone that flew with the rebel fleet is sure to appreciate it," he said instead, and waved a hand at the crate containing the parts for the console. "This is from Pidge. She's concerned about the Garrison's direction lately. It's secure communications."

Hunk sighed and walked over to the crate, opening it by the application of the base of his palm to a part of the casing. "Her and her double modulating," he sighed, taking out parts to eye critically. "She's brilliant with the software, don't get me wrong. But you're going to be back out here in a few phoebs when I've had time to go over her hardware." He looked up. "How's Shiro? I haven't heard anything in movements."

"Not...good," said Keith quietly. "He's checked into an asylum. Lost a lot of weight. I got Lance to send the mice so at least he has company. Pidge hacked the whole place to make sure they treat him right."

Hunk just stared. "He's in there and you're out here?" he asked. "I never would've believed it."

Acxa stepped forward defensively, but Keith beat her to it. "Just exactly what is it you think I should be doing, Hunk?" he snapped. " _I can't help him_. Curtis is the legal guardian. I'm not family. He doesn't want to see me. And if I ignore all that and break him out, what then? How do I help him?"

Hunk's expression fell a little further with each sentence; when Keith finished, he grabbed Keith for a bearhug. "I'm sorry man. You're right. It - this just sucks, okay? It sucks. You wouldn't leave him there if there was any kind of choice." He let Keith go, and turned his attention back to the console. He had the thing assembled in minutes, without referring to the enclosed instructions. "Decent job keeping it simple. I know that's hard for her - always new flourishes and stuff. I've got some ideas how to improve the design, but I'll run them by her. She can update the ones near her, I'll update my own." He looked back to Keith. "...I know how I can help you, now. And Shiro. How bad do you figure Garrison security is right now?"

"It's not too bad," chipped in Ezor. "If you're thinking of sending us a package, I'm pretty sure they'd open it before we got it."

Hunk frowned. "Yeah," he sighed. "Okay. Well. It'll take me a phoeb or two to get back to this corner of space, but we'll meet here then, okay?" He eyed not just Keith but the whole group. "I'll have some stuff for Keith. If he's gone to Shiro then it's up to you ladies to get it to him, right? Marmora style. The Garrison's not going to like my work."

Keith wanted to ask what Hunk had in mind that he was _that_ sure the Garrison would have problems with it, but Acxa, Ezor and Zethrid just saluted their acquiescence.

Hunk blinked at them. "We don't do 'vrepit sa' anymore, right?" he asked. "Just checking."

"Mottos haven't done us a lot of good, Hunk," said Keith quietly.

"Who's next on your list?" asked Hunk. "No wait. It's got to be Lance, right? You haven't said hi yet?"

"He's next," Keith agreed. "And no, I haven't. Do you have a message for him?"

Hunk thought it over. "Nah," he decided. "But tell him to call me when the console's set up. Have I got _questions_."

~*~

Since Lance, like Kolivan and Krolia, was on Earth, they couldn't just do a straight hop. Rather, like they'd done with the Blades, they picked up the console crate, and completed a full interstellar run to catch Lance on the return trip. Pidge was still a frequent caller - though not quite _as_ frequent now that Hunk was also immediately reachable - so it took Keith several days to realize Curtis' updates were not just brief, but getting rarer.

Being fair _most_ of Curtis' updates were brief. The man had taken the instruction that all Keith needed was to know Shiro was healthy and happy as the baseline, and the majority of his transmissions had been roughly four words: _He's healing. Condition stable._ Or some variation thereof. When he wrote more than that it was because something had changed. But 'every day' had become 'every few days' to 'every few weeks'. It was easy to miss, now that Pidge was being more hands on about updates, so he wasn't worried.

As he landed his fighter in a fallow field, though, Keith realized he hadn't heard much of anything from Lance at all outside the annual Celebration of Allura on Altea. Zethrid hoisted the crate onto her shoulder as the group made their way to the road. The island countryside was fairly pretty, really, if you didn't know that it had been densely populated just a decade or so ago. Now it was scarred landscapes and farmlands where towns had been, and artificial hills made up of the rubble of broken buildings with a bit of topsoil over them.

And...something else. Something that made Keith's senses tingle. "Do you feel that?" he asked as they walked. Lance's lands were hard to miss - the sign was of a blue lioness wearing a coronet exactly like the one Allura had often worn. It was just a matter of following the arrows.

Acxa shook her head, looked to the others. Ezor shrugged, Zethrid gave a vaguely negative grunt. "What is it?" she asked, curious.

Keith tried to frame it in words. _Something_ was going on here. Something..."Bright," he said absently. "New." He shook his head. "I don't know. I can feel it but I don't -"

To his surprise, Kosmo blinked into being beside them. He'd been on the cruiser - the distance was pretty respectable. The wolf nudged Keith to climb aboard; Keith obeyed, wondering what was going on.

"What, you can't walk like the rest of us?" asked Ezor, though without anger. 

"What is it?" Acxa asked the wolf. "If you sense something, Keith, it seems your wolf does as well."

Keith nodded, leaning forward to scratch between Kosmo's ears. They were perked forward, not back, he noticed. "He doesn't think it's trouble," he decided. "Just...something to see for himself, maybe."

The 'something' became easier to spot as they approached the road-gate of Lance's farm. 'Farm' honestly didn't do it justice. Beyond the gate was a winding dirt road, beautiful greenhouses - a chunk of Altea, transplanted to Earth alongside normal Earth crops. Which were in small plots, bordered by flowers and shrubs. There was a lot of acreage, so the harvest was probably good, but it was certainly a unique approach to agribusiness.

And the air smelled _wonderful_.

"Is this how humans normally grow food?" asked Acxa. "It's...very pretty."

"This isn't how humans normally do anything," said Keith with certainty. He'd been bounced around enough rural foster homes to know. "This is all Lance." 

Ezor was peering at one of the plots. "It's practical," she said. "There's little vines growing around the stalks, and it looks like there's tubers in there too. All together."

Keith's experience of agriculture had been being pressed into service alongside a bunch of other juvie kids to weed and harvest; it had among other things convinced him that he liked nature but not farms, and if he was going to get the choice of urban or rural he'd take urban. He hadn't gotten the choice, until Shiro gave it to him. But now wasn't the time to think about that. He started looking around for the gardeners, or farmers, or whatever it was Lance thought he was doing here.

Kosmo chose that moment to helpfully woof; the bark resounded through the air and bounced off distant buildings. People emerged from trees, from stands of corn, from barns. Following the deep bass bark. All three former generals eyed the wolf as if not sure whether to thank it or thwap it. But as people approached, Zethrid did set down the crate she was carrying.

As the people approached, the crate got pressed into service by the younger children as 'something to stand on to pet the big bear-sized wolf'. Apparently, Keith being on Kosmo's _back_ meant the wolf was totally tame and safe to approach. Keith rather suspected that was why Kosmo had indicated Keith should ride; it certainly wasn't something they'd tried before now. But Kosmo clearly loved the adoring attention of the children, and the children in turn seemed more than happy with big slobbery wolf-licks.

It was weirdly reassuring that Lance's idea of a greeting was, "Hey, mull- oh, wait, is that a _ponytail_?"

"It was getting in the way, loose," said Keith dryly. "Hi, Lance. Nice, um. Garden."

Lance was sporting a ponytail as well, probably for exactly the same reason Keith did; it kept hair out of the way without requiring it to be cut. He had a very sun-browned look to him that suggested he'd spent weeks at a go without seeing a mirror. The Altean marks on his face meant that Keith became the most human-looking of the group, which still felt odd.

And that sense of brightness, of newness, was a lot stronger now. "What have you been _doing_ out here?" Keith asked.

"Oh, mystic mumbo jumbo," said Lance lightly. "Get off Kosmo, dork. They're clear he's safe. Can't say _he's_ safe from _them_ , but he can teleport if they tug his fur too hard."

Keith blinked and obliged, nodding to Zethrid who picked up the crate again. Kosmo, free of rider, promptly rolled onto his back for belly rubs and was mobbed by the children. Acxa put a hand over her mouth, clearly not sure if she should be embarrassed or not.

"C'mon," Keith said to them. "I think we need to talk."

"But not for too long," said Lance, leading the galra off. "You've got places to be."

Ezor and Zethrid exchanged looks. They'd _fought_ Lance. This ...did not feel like Lance. Acxa watched Keith for cues.

And Keith...fell into step behind Lance, letting him lead the way. Whatever this was, there was no darkness about it. Nothing like the dark entity that had made Allura's last days so...fraught. It was new, and different, but a lot of things were, lately.

The garden was, truly, beautiful. Restful, even, although Keith could tell it was a _working_ area - people could be seen here and there amid the plants, tending or trimming or watering or weeding. They seemed healthy, and happy, and most bore a resemblance to Lance - but then the man had always had an ungodly large family. And an incredibly lucky one, too, it seemed, that the galra occupation hadn't taken any of it.

Lance led the way to an area that was definitely more decorative; a tiered stone fountain, topped with a pair of leaping dolphins, and surrounded by a circle of stone benches. "we'll be out of the way, here," he said. "So what brings you here? I don't think you've ever visited."

"Well, you kind of lost your mind, and people don't like to see that," said Ezor, and Acxa glared shh at her.

Zethrid set down her crate. "We came to give you this," she said. "From the short one."

"From _Pidge_ ," Keith clarified. "It's a console. So you can reach any of us if you need to." He paused. "Uh. It's currently in pieces, though. We can put it together if you need."

"That's ...probably a good idea," Lance agreed quietly. "Pidge is terrible at explaining stuff." He gave Keith a direct look. "You belong with Shiro."

Coming from Lance, it was almost a punch. "I can't," said Keith. "He's - checked into an asylum. I'm not family or anything, the Garrison's watching him. And he doesn't want me there."

"Sometimes Shiro can't tell his ass from a hole in the ground," said Lance, which got all four galra staring at him in disbelieving unison.

"That's it," said Keith levelly. "Who are you and what did you do with Lance?"

Lance actually looked irritated. He turned to Acxa. "Okay. That house? There?" he pointed. "Find a room that doesn't have toys in it and set the console up there. I need to talk to Keith." Without waiting for Acxa to agree or disagree, he turned to Keith. "I honestly expected _you_ would understand this. It was your mystic foofisense that got the whole mess _started_ , after all."

Acxa did wait for Keith to give her a startled wave of 'okay yes go do that' before she led the other two off, but lead them off she did. Keith, alone, said "You never believed me. Any of the times I said anything."

"Well, I need _you_ to believe _me_ ," said Lance. "Starting with: Allura's not dead."

Keith sat down hard on one of the stone benches. "What - how do you know?"

Lance touched fingertips to one of the markings on his face. "She gave me a little bit of her magic," he said. "I don't know how much, exactly, percentagewise. But I can sense all kinds of things now. And you would not _believe_ my dreams." He paused. "No, wait. _You_ would. Pidge probably not. She's not dead. She's...dreaming. Sleeping. Sort of. Dreaming the whole universe."

"What...like _Bob_?" asked Keith. 

Lance sat down next to him. Slumped, honestly. "That, I don't know. Maybe someday. I can hope. For now, it's just...dreams. Sometimes I see how things are, now. Or how they used to be. Or how they need to go. It's all..." he waved a hand. "Mystic mumbo jumbo, I don't have words for it and I know you don't either. I think part of my job is supposed to be finding the words."

"...You do _use_ a lot of them," Keith hazarded cautiously. 

"Oh, bite me," said Lance with tired irritation. Keith felt better for hearing it. Lance being a snarky jerk was normal. Lance being mystic and zen was very much not. "Look. You sensed it. There's power here. I put it here. I wanted to protect my family."

"You can do that?" asked Keith, surprised.

"Yup," said Lance. "Just a matter of reinforcing the natural quintessence. I'm not an alchemist - at least, I don't think I am, but all the alchemists are gone now so maybe I'm the next step, or something. But people who mean trouble just...don't come here. They find reasons not to. I've had some bad dreams, about the Garrison. But I know I can't leave Earth. Not yet."

"So the console's a good thing, then," said Keith slowly. "Pidge has a lot she hasn't been able to tell anyone. From what she's told us, you're in danger here if you can manipulate quintessence."

"Allura believed we're stronger together," said Lance quietly. "I'm supposed to stay, for now. Maybe divert things off a bad course, though I have no idea how I'd do that."

"Pidge probably has some ideas in that direction," said Keith. This was feeling more like Lance, even if the subject under discussion was new. Lance thought things out by talking. 

"And _you_ have to go to Shiro," Lance continued. "I'm surprised you haven't yet - no, don't tell me again why not. But you can feel it, can't you? The pull?"

Keith stared. "Wait. _You_ sense that?" That was disturbing. That was worse than coming out of a shower to find Ezor grinning at him.

"You keep thinking about things as being galra or human," sighed Lance. "And I get it. I do. It probably helps a lot. But it's also like making chocolate milk and trying to taste only the chocolate or the milk. There are things about your human side that the galra blood makes bigger, louder. And there's things about your galra side that your human blood makes bigger. And either way you look at it, you're tied to Shiro. You've always been tied to Shiro, I think."

"You're starting to sound like a matchmaker," said Keith. "Which is very disturbing, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped."

Lance side-eyed him in a _don't be stupid_ way. "You think I'm talking about love, or relationships, or something like that. I'm not. I'm talking about what you sensed when you came here, and the fact your three crazy friends _didn't_ sense it. Neither does your mom, before you ask. Though she had some ideas that helped me make sense of it."

"Okay, so...fill me in," said Keith, trying to be patient about it.

"Your quintessence sense comes from your human blood," Lance explained patiently. "All those stories about ESP? It's right on the edge of what human kind can do. Push a human hard enough - and this is your mom's theory - and we can pull in more quintessence from the world to do what we need to do. It's temporary and it hurts but we can do it. But galra have a lot more ...call it an innate supply. A bigger battery. It's what makes them so much bigger than humans, stronger than humans. Plug a bigger battery into the human senses and you get...well, _you_." He touched fingertips to his Altean markings. "Or, lately, me. A constant ability. Something reliable. You've followed your gut your whole life. It's just that _your_ gut is a compass plugged into the whole universe - that's why you're so lucky. That's where the extra senses, and the dreams come from. Blue was never yours, but because you grew up near her and you're all plugged in, she could warn you and guide you. Your senses led you to Shiro more than once."

Keith stared. Put like that, it made an awful lot of sense. Not human _or_ galra. Human _and_ galra. The combination creating something new that neither heritage could do alone. But... "I think that's why you have to stay here, then," he said. "Pidge said the Garrison wants her to make a new Voltron. There's a lot of experimentation with quintessence going on. If you're right and humankind has the potential, and just needs more power? They're about to _have_ more power. Lots more."

Lance took a few moments to digest that, and nodded. "Yeah. That would make sense. Kids being born _knowing_ things, but not knowing how they know or why they know. I had to come out here and really do some thinking to get a handle on things after Allura left me this way. The cities were too...loud? And I remembered what you'd said about finding nature quiet. I think she's been trying to help me understand, too, but I kept thinking...this is what it had to be like to be _you_. And no wonder you were such a grouch. It's not like anyone wanted to believe you." He paused. "Sorry about that, by the way. The past few years have made it really clear how much it had to have sucked, to be you."

"I'm _still_ me, Lance," said Keith dryly. "But I manage."

"Bite me, ponytail," said Lance shortly, blithely ignoring that the insult lost its bite when he had one too. He stood up. "One of the things I know is that you'll bring Shiro here sometime. That you'll have to. I just want you to know that you'll probably know when that is, and that you're welcome in advance."

"Then...thanks in advance, too," said Keith. "So...you're done being the hero, then?"

That won Keith a bland look. "Are _you_?" Lance asked pointedly. "Look. Weird as you are, you've had your whole life to at least accept that this is something that's part of it. Me, I lost my girlfriend and woke up the next day bawling over a dead juniberry flower, and having panic attacks because the crowds I loved - and let's face it, they loved me, too - were _smothering_ me. I'm here, because I need to be. Allura's not dead, but she _is_ gone. I miss her. And there's like...a bajillion things I wish I could just _talk_ to her about. But I can't. And you're at least as in the dark as I am, so you're no help. The Alteans lost their mystics for several hundred years to Lotor's idea of farming, so _they're_ no help. And now you're telling me the Garrison's stepping up its quintessence experiments, which means in a few more years, you and me may not be the only humans dealing with this. _Someone's_ got to have answers. I've only got the dreams, but it's better than nothing." He shrugged. "And ...my family's missed me," he admitted quietly. "The marks worry them. Me being out here on a farm instead of being the pilot leading the Garrison into the next century like I promised, that worries them too. So I figured...if I have to be out in the green to figure this new 'me' out, I'd just take them with me. So far it's working."

Keith wanted to say _you could have told us_. But Lance had correctly figured out why that would have been a bad idea. He was right - Pidge and Hunk didn't get magic at all. Quintessence, to them, was just an energy source. Something separate from the living things it was drawn from. But it wasn't. It really was life itself, and it could and did change people. Shiro might have understood, but Shiro was up to his neck in his own problems. Coran saw Altean markings and thought of it as an Altean problem. And Lance had come to Keith before with problems, but he'd spent literal years before being marked in mocking Keith for exactly the things he was now having to learn to deal with. He wanted to say _I'm sorry_ , but this was well past something those words were any help for. So, instead, he said, "I'll talk to Pidge for you. Get her up to speed. She's going to need your help."

"That...would really be a first," Lance sighed. "Your friends seem to have a problem."

Looking toward the house Lance had sent the former generals off too, Keith could see Lance was right. Acxa was doing that long-quick-stride she used when she had Something To Say. It wasn't bothering Zethrid and Ezor, though, who trailed behind her casually, Ezor riding perched on Zethrid's shoulder.

"We completed the console and contacted Pidge so that she knew it was done," said Acxa. "She has news for you. You should come."

Lance was unnervingly calm at this, and just got up to follow Keith back to the house. Keith asked, "Did she tell you what it was?"

"Nope," chirped Ezor. "But since she said we had to get you, it has to be big, right?"

"Told you," said Lance, amused now. _It's time_ , that meant. Keith picked up his pace. _Just let Shiro be not-worse_. He wasn't sure he could handle much more 'worse'. 

By the time Keith reached the house, the other four were trailing him like a comet's tail. Kosmo had apparently drawn every person under the age of twenty in for belly rubs, and the adults were in the fields, so there were no obstacles to Acxa taking the lead to show Keith where the console had been installed. True to Lance's instructions, it appeared they'd chosen a guest bedroom. It was on, and Pidge was waiting impatiently.

_"Keith!"_ she said, relieved. _"Good. You're on Earth already. It's definitely time. If you've got a tablet handy I'll transmit paperwork for your thumbprint. We need to move fast."_

Keith blinked at the screen. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "Is Shiro okay?"

_"Better than okay,"_ Pidge answered. _"We've finally caught a break. I just finished a call from Curtis. He was all pissed at me because he said I'd planted bugs in the house he and Shiro lived in - he found 'em today because he was moving his stuff out, apparently. He's filed for a divorce."_ She paused then waved at the screen. _"By the way. Hi, Lance. We should talk."_

Lance was laughing into his hand. "Well. _You_ haven't changed. When did you put _bugs_ in Shiro's _house?_?"

Keith was trying to find his mental feet. "...But...That means Shiro's alone," he said quietly. "If Curtis doesn't speak for him he might never get out of there."

_"Hence the good news, dingus,"_ said Pidge affectionately. _"I made sure you were appointed Shiro's guardian. Before the Garrison could name someone else. You're now absolutely in charge, free and clear, of making sure Shiro gets better and don't_ give _me any more excuses about it. Just make sure it happens."_ To Lance, more conversationally, she said, _"And so you know, I didn't bug their house. None of this was a problem until Shiro checked into a nuthouse. So, chew on that for a minute."_

It was time. It really was time. Acxa, Zethrid, and Ezor just stepped aside and let Keith run out of the room. To the humans, she said, "We will make sure he gets there, and has what he needs. If our ship is needed, you have the means to reach us." Then she and the others left to follow Keith.

Alone with the console, Lance said, "Divorce, huh? Any idea why? They seemed pretty happy together."

_"I'll be finding out,"_ Pidge promised. _"The fact that there were bugs in their house that I didn't put there tells me the Garrison's been watching Shiro for longer than I realized. Let me fill you in..."_


	7. Entrance Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has come...but there are guardians at the gate who must be placated.
> 
> I haven't forgotten everyone else. But this got a bit long, so I figured I'd post it and then get around to what everyone else is up to.

The others caught up to him, of course. Even Acxa was taller than Keith was, with longer legs. Once on board the fighter, Keith would have beelined for the clinic but Acxa took the controls. "No," she reminded him. "First there are things Pidge has to send you. We need to return to the cruiser."

Keith reacted as if slapped, but backed off and let Acxa pilot. Zethrid clamped a huge hand on his shoulder. "Know how you feel," she said gruffly. "But it'll be over soon."

"We'll take care of everything we can," Ezor agreed.

They did, too. Once back on the cruiser the trio clicked smoothly into motion, as if this were a scenario they'd practiced for a thousand times. It was entirely possible they _had_. Keith was handed a tablet and plunked down at the console to get the paperwork sorted. Acxa and Ezor saw to packing Keith a travel bag, while Zethrid headed for the bridge to see what the ship's orders were.

Pige seemed very amused at it all, on her little screen. "Tap the tablet to the interface," she said. "Transmitting....now."

Keith did so, and what seemed like reams of paperwork flickered across the tablet's screen. "What is all this?" he asked, even while looking for places to thumbprint.

"It transfers legal guardianship of Shiro to you," said Pidge. "For the duration of his diagnosis. When the doctors clear Shiro as capable of making his own decisions, your authority to guide his treatment's over. Most of the paragraphs are covering possible outcomes and what you're legally obligated, allowed, and forbidden from doing. Which I realize you don't care about right now, but you'll want to go over it all in detail when you get some time. If you screw this up, the Garrison will _very happily_ give this position to someone else."

"Understood," said Keith, his attention on signing the pages.

"Not yet, but you will," sighed Pidge. "Another shiny little tidbit that's going to be a problem. You're classified as one of Shiro's _stalkers_. Because Curtis had to tell you how Shiro was doing."

" _What?_ " demanded Keith angrily, looking up. "You _know_ I never -"

"Yeah, I do!" Pidge snapped back, cutting him short. "I do know. I get it. You're not entirely human. But Shiro is. And we're on Earth. And the Garrison's involved. So basically human law covers all of this, and by human law you've been stalking him for this entire time. _Believe me_ , your mom and Kolivan are spitting nails about this in the big hall, but like it or not, how _galra_ instinct does or doesn't work matters a big fat zilch to ninety nine point nine percent of human judges right now. The best I could do for you is Shiro's doctors have the right to interview you and assess your mental state. You had better impress them, Keith. Be as stable a _human_ as you can manage to be. You'll only get to keep this gig if you can convince _them_ you're stable." Her image on the screen scowled. "Which may be a long way of saying we're fucked before we even start, looking at you. But you're the only real hope we've got of making sure Shiro gets treated and not quietly disappeared. And I know you don't want that."

_For Shiro._ That snapped Keith's control into place. "You're right," he said. "I think I've signed everything. Now where do we _go_?"

"Sending coordinates now," said Pidge. "As to your house, I'm told you know where to find that. Later." And her face blinked out, leaving the screen blank.

Paperwork, done. Packing. He headed for his quarters to find Acxa and Ezor were just finishing. "You will not want any of the other uniforms," Acxa said. "So. Your civilian clothes and your Garrison uniform. We have included lockpicks, security scanners, and an assortment of transmission jammers." She handed the bag over to Keith's particularly stunned grasp. She answered that shock with a patient look. " _We_ are not mentally clouded by a mate bond, sir." The 'sir' was particularly pointed. "We knew this day was coming. We planned for it. And if you try returning to us without your mate, we have already obtained your mother's blessing to put you to _palen bol_."

Keith knew his mother. He knew, among other things, that she had picked up quite a lot of Earth phrasing particular to the Southwest, which she enjoyed using simply because she liked the sound of it. "She actually said 'beat him six ways from Sunday', didn't she," he said.

Ezor, grinning the cheerful grin of the sadist unchained, just shrugged. "Means basically the same thing, doesn't it? Get. _Moving._ "

The finer points of a Texan beatdown versus _palen bol_ could definitely wait for another day. Keith took the bag and ran for the fighter.

~*~

There wasn't really a helipad at the clinic. The fighter could use the parking lot, but would have used _all_ of it, and crushed a few vehicles in the process. So in the end, Keith parked on the roof and jumped down, using ledges as mini stops along the way. Getting back up would just be using the same ledges and some judicious jumping; by now he knew his physical abilities were beyond human, and he'd learned to be fine with it.

The clinic itself had the understated look common to the higher end medical facility. Trees around the property, well tended landscaping. The building itself had the look of having been damaged and rebuilt, but then a lot of buildings over one story did. Keith had the feeling that once inside, it would be very hard to tell there had been a galra occupation at all. You had to get quite close to realize the glass in the windows was very thick, bullet proof and shatter proof, and that the window frames involved a lot of discreetly painted metal. The front doors were heavily reinforced, with cameras. This was not a building that let people out lightly.

For just a moment or two, that made Keith hesitate. He really didn't like these kinds of places. He'd never been good at being a normal human, and knowing _why_ he'd been bad at it didn't change the fear that places like this were just waiting to slam shut around him. 

_Shiro is in there._ It was more than just paper knowledge. This close he could sense Shiro's quintessence. He knew what floor Shiro was on, what direction from the doors. He hadn't been this close since the wedding. 

He pushed open the doors and tried to look confident and serious as he approached the receptionist. He held out the tablet containing all the imprinted forms. "My name is Keith. I'm here about the transfer of guardianship of one of your patients - Takashi Shirogane."

~*~

The paperwork went...mostly well. It had taken a few hours, and he had digital copies of a dozen more pamphlets to read when he got out of here, but the transfer of guardianship was accepted and formalized.

Then he got to meet the doctors. Some of them, anyway. From a distance.

The _first_ one was Dr. Aaron Pender, who proclaimed himself the lead physician in determining Shiro's treatment. Keith didn't have trouble spotting how much trouble he was in, right from jump. Pender was short - shorter than Pidge, which took doing for a man. Balding, slightly round in the way some had lately - people who'd been overweight before the occupation, starved during it, and were starting to gain it back now that normalcy was somewhat restored. Scars on his hands indicated he'd probably been sent to a work camp in a quarry. And a look on his face, as he came out to the reception area, that said, _I have read your file and I didn't like it one bit._ Keith had seen that look on a lot of people's faces, before Kerberos. 

Nevertheless, Dr. Pender looked at his tablet in a cursory way before saying, "So you're...Keith. No surname?"

"Orphan," said Keith levelly, biting the reflex to use 'sir'. "Ward of the state of New Mexico. It's somewhere around page forty."

"Except that you're not, are you?" said Dr. Pender, in a sour sort of 'gotcha' way. "It's well known your mother sits on the Coalition council."

Ah. Yes. Well. Of course that was well known now. The not-exactly-human Black Paladin. That wouldn't sit well with those who'd survived Galra work camps. Keith debated explaining that galra as a rule didn't go in for surnames, since their generations were so incredibly long. But there really wasn't much point. There wasn't anything Keith could say that would make this doctor's time in a work camp anything less than terrible. So he simply said, "True," and left it to the doctor to decide how far to take this.

Dr. Pender eyeballed him dourly for a few minutes more, the silence filling the reception area to the point that the receptionist decided now was a good time to get a glass of water. Keith had gotten this kind of treatment from far more skilled practitioners of the Stretched Uncomfortable Silence, though, and waited him out. He was here for Shiro. If the little frumpy doctor wanted, Keith would do handstands. He would _not_ let Shiro down. Not this time. Eventually, the doctor relented and said, "We have to ask you some questions. Routine, of course. Your fitness to be Mr. Shirogane's advocate is in question. Come with me."

Another one of those heavy, reinforced, very sealable doors. Keith made himself nod, and follow the doctor farther in, although part of him was mentally mapping every step he took - just in case he needed to break out.

This part of the building was carpeted, decorated like an office building. As Dr. Pender opened a door with his name on a plate at eye level, Keith decided this was where they spoke gently to family members about what they did to - or for - patients. The people paying the bills got treated tenderly, always. The office of Dr. Pender had plush leather chairs, the usual book cases with leatherbound books with uncracked spines, a few office desk toys. The desk said, quite clearly, _I am paid a lot of money, therefore I am good at what I do._ The wall held framed diplomas - some a bit wrinkled, charred, or torn, but nevertheless framed with pride. Keith found himself wondering what the doctor had gone through to recover them.

At the doctor's gesture, Keith took a seat in the big leather chair opposite the desk. It was clearly going to be something like one of the many reamings he'd gotten from Garrison officers, then, after punching someone's lights out or blowing off a boring exercise. Dr. Pender didn't dispel that impression by sitting down primly, looking over his tablet of files. "I understand you have been with Mr. Shirogane through many of his more traumatic experiences," he began.

Keith blinked. "...I think the ones I couldn't be there for were probably harder on him," he said. "Shiro came back ...different, each time."

"Mmm." Tap, tap. The doctor took out a keyboard, attached the tablet to it. "I understand you were the one to recover the files on his initial period of captivity as a prisoner of war. Do you have any experience of the gladiatorial arena described?"

"No," admitted Keith. "You might want to ask Matt Holt. I don't think he fought in the Arena, but he knew people other than Shiro who did."

"Matt Holt," Dr. Pender echoed, making a note. "Of the Holts who sent out the warning of the impending occupation?"

"Yes," said Keith. "Their son. He's with the Garrison now."

Tappitytappitytap. "And when Mr. Shirogane escaped to Earth and was to be quarantined, you led the group that kidnapped him," Dr. Pender continued.

Keith bit his tongue on _rescued him, you mean_. He debated mentioning the dreams that had told him something important was coming, something he had to reach. Even if it _had_ been from Blue, this man was highly unlikely to accept a dream as a valid reason to do anything. Lacking any kind of explanation that made sense in strictly human terms, Keith limited himself to a tight, "Yes. We didn't bind him or knock him out. The Garrison did that. He was free to return the next day if he wanted to. He didn't."

Tappitytappitytap. "Did you witness any signs of post-traumatic stress in Mr. Shirogane at that time? Sleeplessness, mood swings, flashbacks, unusual reactions, paranoia?"

Keith frowned. The doctor seemed to be limiting his questions to Shiro. Maybe they were going to circle back around later to the whole stalker thing. He _really_ didn't trust psychiatrists. People that studied the mind too much sometimes seemed to really enjoy manipulating it. But he _had_ read this man's file. Maybe it was safe to take this at face value. If so, then...now _would_ be the time to discuss such things. "He didn't sleep much," he admitted carefully. "Princess Allura put us through drills - he was the only one that was _always_ awake and ready first. Like he'd never been to bed in the first place. He froze a few times in training. And...when he came back to Earth, the front part of his hair, the bangs, were white."

The doctor briefly eyed him over the tablet. "Not all of it, as it is now?"

"No," said Keith. "Just the bangs."

The interrogation - as Keith thought of it - continued several more hours. There were no windows in this office to show the passage of light from day to night, no clocks to tick. But Keith was in Earth style street clothes now, with a watch. He did his best to downplay his own attempts to protect Shiro or hide Shiro's PTSD from the other paladins. He didn't need the doctor thinking about that. But he was as honest as he could be about everything he'd seen, including the fights they'd lived through and the injuries he'd seen Shiro take and survive. It didn't _quite_ work - Dr. Pender seemed well aware that Keith had saved Shiro's life on several occasions, and asked for confirmation, details, and situation assessments. Keith made sure to add, each time, a time Shiro had saved his own life in turn. It wasn't some one sided affair. 

Then they got to the part where Shiro died, and things got tricky.

"So...no blood, no body then," Dr. Pender frowned. "No actual reason to assume death."

"No," Keith agreed. "And I didn't. I went out every day we weren't fighting, to look for him. In Red, then in Black. I went out until I found him...except it wasn't him."

"So this would be where Ryou enters the story," hmmed the doctor.

"What?" asked Keith, confused.

Dr. Pender scooted the tablet aside for a moment, to study Keith more directly. "One of the difficulties we have been having is the matter of Mr. Shirogane's split personality," he said. "The nomenclature became cumbersome and difficult, as both personalities claimed the name 'Shiro' despite being measurably different. Eventually we agreed that the 'second Shiro' would be called 'Ryou'. Both Shiro and Ryou credit _you_ for this situation."

Keith felt sick. "Oh," he said quietly. "That...explains a lot." He'd thought the two had merged. But they hadn't, had they. The clone had never been as much of a friend as Shiro had been. The clone had been much more willing to blame Keith for things that went wrong. And a lot had gone wrong...

"Do continue," said Dr. Pender. "You rescued Ryou, I believe. And...?"

Keith studied his hands as he told that part of it. 'Ryou' hadn't liked Keith's attempts at leadership. And had really wanted the Black Lion back. So Keith left, and he would be willing to call one of the other paladins in to talk with the doctor about how the team had functioned after that.

"For now," said the doctor, "Tell me about your return. Did Ryou seem glad you'd come back? Focused on your news?"

Keith had to think about it. "I think he was more surprised than anything else. But there wasn't time for much. Haggar took control of him."

"Haggar," the doctor echoed. Tappitytappitytap. "Please be thorough now. As unbiased as you are able. We are aware that something unpleasant happened, but Mr. Shirogane has mentioned nothing of being controlled. Are you certain he was?"

"Absolutely," said Keith, and meant it. "Haggar was a very powerful witch. She'd made - Ryou's - body. She'd given him the cybernetic arm. She made him capture Lotor and bring him to her. And when I followed, she used him to bring me to the ...facility where they made all the clones. And he tried to kill me. He'd never have done that if she hadn't forced him. I know him. He was fighting her." But his fingertips brushed the scar on his cheek, remembering the madness in the clone's eyes and the heat of the blade in his arm.

Dr. Pender didn't miss the gesture. "So the scar on your face, there," he said calmly. "That was from the fight between the two of you?"

"Yes," said Keith quietly. "I won. But I wouldn't let him go. I couldn't let him die. Not again. Then Black rescued us...and showed me Shiro. He told me he'd been there, in the Black Lion, since he vanished. That he didn't have a body anymore."

Dr. Pender adjusted his glasses. "I take it this is when you hit on some method to put Shiro in Ryou's body," he said. "Which I wouldn't believe possible, had I not been overseeing their treatment for the past year and change."

"Sh- Ryou was dying," said Keith. "The fight, and Haggar's magic, it was killing him slowly. He wasn't going to live much longer. And Shiro couldn't leave the Black Lion without somewhere to go to, and I couldn't leave him alone in the dark like that. I thought...they're both Shiro."

"Mmm. They are, and they aren't," said the doctor. "But that is a discussion for another time. I have many more questions for you, which I believe will help us better direct Mr. Shirogane's treatment. However, I do not recommend that he see you today." But apparently Keith's ability to wear a neutral mask was fraying, because he quickly added, "You may see him. _He_ is not ready to see _you_. Please come with me."

The little doctor got up then, took up a bundle of keycards, and led the way. Keith refrained from letting him know he needn't bother. He could feel it; they were getting nearer to Shiro. Down the hall. Past another reinforced door - and now they were in the asylum proper. Bleach, tile floors, white walls, doors that locked and were hard to break. _Shiro._ Elevator. Another hall. These doors were farther apart - suites, with long observation windows. "On their side," said Dr. Pender conversationally, "the windows bear moving holographic images of soothing landscapes. Mr. Shirogane chose a shinto temple. I'm afraid I couldn't tell you which one." He paused by one of the observation windows, and touched a button with his index finger. 

The mirror glass shifted to something translucent, and...there was Shiro. Keith swallowed hard - in person, Shiro had lost a _lot_ of weight, the skin pulled taut over muscle. He looked easily fifty or sixty years old, and he was beating fists on the room's window. Keith's hand went to the glass before he could stop himself - just let him in there, just let him _help_ \- but the doctor said, firmly, "Keith." And removed his finger from the button. The glass went opaque and reflective again. "He is yelling about a fight in the arena," he said quietly. "It is a memory he has lived through several times, usually around this time of day." The doctor adjusted his glasses, giving Keith a harsh, measuring look. "The Garrison may be right about you. You certainly seem to have a very, very strong attachment to Mr. Shirogane. It may be an unhealthy one. But we have been trying to help this man for over a year now, and the only breakthroughs we've had, we have had thanks to your input. If you are willing to continue to assist us, and respect the limitations we place on contact, I am willing to work with you."

Keith swallowed hard. He couldn't look away from what was now a mirror. Not yet. He could sense Shiro there, just on the other side of the glass. He just wanted to go in there. Hold him, talk him down. 

So he completely missed the look of utter surprise on the doctor's face when he said, in complete seriousness, "Doctor, I don't care if Shiro never sees me again. If I can help you heal him, just tell me what I need to do....and keep me posted on how he's doing."

~*~

The house...the house.

It was about a half hour by galra fighter, and Keith didn't really care about distances beyond that. He touched the ship down in its front yard, or what would've been a front yard if it had had a lawn. This was desert country, and the land around the house - and the old shack which was now in its back yard - was left to its natural devices.

Krolia really had had it rebuilt. Keith was tired - actually, exhausted - from the hours of questions and forms and seeing Shiro in that state. So it felt a lot like walking into a dream, or a memory, to open the door of the house. He honestly expected a pickup truck to be parked outside, and it felt wrong that there wasn't one. 

It was all as he'd seen it in his mother's memories, in the quantum abyss. It was all as the vague, fuzzy memories of his early childhood told him it should be...except that he was a lot bigger now. He kept expecting to hear his father's voice from another room.

No. No, nope, hell to the fucking no, not now, not today, not after the day he'd had.

Keith grabbed his travel bag and hauled it out to the old, beat-up shack. He'd sleep out there. Living in a memory might be fine for his mom, but until he had _new_ memories to work with that house was a big ball of Nope.


	8. The Tale of Curtis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to those who're just here for the sheith; I needed to catch up with what the other paladins are doing. Pidge is frankly starting to worry me.
> 
> But for those of you who wondered about Curtis, well. There's at least a start on an answer for you here.

Acxa placed the call as soon as Keith had taken off. 

Krolia's face appeared, frowning a bit as she realized it wasn't Keith calling. "I take it something has happened."

Acxa nodded, standing at-ease in the manner of one reporting to a superior officer. Which, in every sense, Krolia _was_. "It would appear that the human your son's mate bound to is severing that bond," she said. "We received intel from the Green Paladin, along with data necessary to take advantage of the situation. Your son is en route to his mate as we speak."

Krolia nodded an acknowledgment. "...Has your cruiser received any of the new transports?"

"No, Representative," said Acxa. "We were due to receive one next movement."

That was not news Krolia wanted to hear. "So...in a socially delicate situation, my son is flying to his mate in a repurposed imperial warship," she said, and it had _do you see the problem here? you damn well better be seeing the problem here_ all over it.

Acxa winced. "It was all we had available, Representative," she said, and it was an apology not an excuse. "It did not appear advisable to force your son to wait. The Green Paladin had advised us that action must be taken quickly."

Krolia sighed. "I will take care of it," she said. "Begin your route. The protocols we prepared for this time are to be used. Keep me informed."

~*~

Pidge needed more hands. More arms. At least two more brains. And absolutely at least five more hours in any given day.

It wasn't something she had a _problem_ with, per se. If Pidge hated anything it was having nothing to do. The only way to avoid ever having nothing to do, was to undertake at least four projects simultaneously. That way, when one of them was busy or required waiting, you could work on three others. But, every now and then, you ran into a point where all four projects had something that needed doing _right now, at once_ , and those days made her a bit frazzled.

One of the great lessons of her life had been realizing she had the rank and authority to delegate. Which, to Pidge, meant 'commandeer the time of anyone she happened to find useful'. Thus, Pidge had pulled Lance's sister Veronica away from the Atlas. "Hi," she said, as Veronica entered the large work area that Pidge considered a private office. "I need you to track someone down and take him to your brother."

Veronica blinked. She almost said, _I have a lot of brothers_ , but Pidge's no-time-for-stupid expression told her what she needed to know. "Lance can't leave?"

"It's better if the target goes to Lance," said Pidge shortly, and handed Veronica a small tablet. "Find him. Get him to Lance however you can. Oh, and it's possible the Garrison has ordered someone else to find him and maybe take him somewhere else."

"What?" asked Veronica - as much because Pidge's babble wasn't making a ton of sense, and the sense it WAS making wasn't very good, as because she'd just recognized the face on the tablet she'd been handed. "Why?"

Pidge grinned the wide and slightly manic grin of a woman running on three pots of black coffee. "If you can get him to Lance then Lance absolutely has time to explain, but you need to move it. I'm pretty sure there's an interception squad already hunting Curtis."

"And if I interfere with Garrison patrols," said Veronica levelly, "I kiss my entire career and very likely my _personal freedom_ goodbye, so you can do better than 'Lance will explain later', Pidge."

She wasn't expecting Pidge - who was still a few inches shorter than her, and prone to wearing binders under loose versions of the uniform - to sweep her leg and then toss her into a wall that turned out not to be a wall but a holographic projection. She stayed still, not because Pidge had hurt her or she was afraid, but because it was all so completely unusual that she wanted an _explanation_.

Pidge slipped in through the 'wall' after her, and she wasn't smiling now. "I. Don't. Have. Time. For. This," she said firmly. "But if I have to give you the short version so you'll do it, then here you go. The Garrison's been keeping an eye on Curtis and Shiro. They've got Shiro firmly under surveillance now, but Curtis just filed for divorce and accused me of planting bugs in his house that I definitely didn't do. I need to know what Curtis knows, but I just intercepted a transmission ordering a squad of Garrison MPs to find Curtis and bring him in. _I don't know why they would._ I need to make sure it doesn't put any of _us_ , and that includes _you_ , in danger. So take that data, grab Curtis before they do, and get him to _Lance_. And try not to be spotted doing it. Was I clear enough this time?"

Veronica wanted to say, _not really_. But she did understand that time was short, and Pidge was operating on rather more information. And when it came down to it, she did _trust_ Pidge. "Got it," she agreed.

"Exit this area by going that way," said Pidge, pointing. "It'll look like a door from the other side. Walk and keep walking and don't tell _anyone_ else what you're doing. Lance will tell you the rest."

~*~

After Pidge's urgent cryptic conspiracy-theorist Talk, Veronica had honestly expected gun fights, high speed pursuits, possibly men in black with little short-term-amnesia devices. Pidge couldn't give Veronica any kind of tracker to follow, but the files she'd provided gave a fairly complete picture of Curtis' habits of late. It wasn't really that much help. Veronica enjoyed _reading_ spy thrillers, but once she found herself in one she couldn't really decide what to do. Did the Garrison have these files too? Did Curtis know he was about to be arrested? These were the kinds of things a reader would know, but now that she was _in_ the story there was no telling.

On the grounds that she had to start _somewhere_ , Veronica looked up where Curtis normally was at this time of day, and headed there first. She'd at least know if he was late or had been acting strange lately, or something like that. This was a day off, apparently, so midmorning was at a coffee shop near his house. His former house, Veronica realized. _crap._ He'd just moved, hadn't he. She pulled her vehicle over and flipped through the pages, looking for where he lived _now_. The move was recent, he was probaly unpacking. She entered in the new address and got moving.

Wait. Why had Curtis moved out? - Oh, right. Pidge had said something about a divorce. But why a divorce?

This was rapidly turning into a morning of far too many questions and zero answers on the horizon. She decided she didn't care if she got reprimanded for abandoning her post. She wanted _answers_. Little brother Lance was going to get shaken until answers started dropping like apples.

So it was with some disappointment and some genuine confusion that Veronica found Curtis' car outside his new address, with a little trailer rented from a moving company attached to it, and Curtis casually chatting and laughing with a guy she'd never seen before while both were moving boxes. She got out of her car, and at the sight of a Garrison uniform both men stopped smiling.

"Curtis?" she called. "You're going to want to come with me. Like. Right now. There's a squad of MPs that want to talk to you really, really badly and they're on their way."

Veronica had honestly expected that _Curtis_ at least would have some idea why ...all this. But the man looked genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"

Okay. So. He had no idea. Whatever the MPs wanted, then, it would probably make Curtis' day very Interesting. "Squad," said Veronica, slowly and clearly. "Military police. Coming here. For you. Very soon. Wanna come with me instead, or wait for them?"

Curtis still looked confused, but the man with him all but shoved him toward Veronica's vehicle. "Go," he said quickly. "Just go. I'll tell them you ran some other direction or something. Just _go_." And Curtis seemed to accept that as a good call, stumble-running to the door of Veronica's car, climbing in.

She got back in herself, and hauled ass out of there. Whatever was going on, she was now _absolutely_ interfering in Garrison business she wasn't part of, and she needed to minimize the damage. "So. Who was that?"

"Jamie," said Curtis, still very clearly trying to figure out what the hell was going on. "Look. I remember you. Veronica, right? Blue Paladin's sister." He stopped, as if he'd answered his own question. "The paladins. This is their doing, isn't it? I shouldn't have yelled at Pidge. But why is she sending MPs after me and what are _you_ doing here?"

"Well, I'm promised that my brother will have answers for both of us," said Veronica, in the grim tone of an older sister who was going to make absolutely certain she _got_ answers. "I don't know how much of whatever this is is their _doing_ , but Pidge didn't send the MPs. She sent me to rescue you _from_ the MPs. And she doesn't know why they're after you either."

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," sighed Curtis, in one long, tired exhalation. He lowered his seat back so he could lie down with his arm over his face. "Let this be a lesson to me in my next life. Just wake me up when we get ....wherever it is you're taking me."

"Oh that won't be long," said Veronica cheerfully. "You can't exactly _drive_ to Cuba, Curtis. We're almost at the airfield now."

~*~

Command of the IGF Atlas was, to most Garrison pilots, a lot like Excalibur in the stone. You could be assigned to the ship. You could even be given command of the ship - and that was the holy grail of pilot assignments. But you could only hope to _keep_ that command if you could unlock the secret of its transformation. Captain Shirogane had proven it could be done. The whole planet had seen its power when transformed.

Since Captain Shirogane had stepped down, no pilot had lasted longer than the six-month trial period in the captain's seat of the Atlas. If you couldn't make it transform, the Garrison wanted you out of there to make room for someone who could. At this point the bridge crew - who were _not_ expected to make the ship do anything magical - had a much longer career life. They were on their fourth captain since Shirogane's retirement and had settled into the pleasant knowledge that they'd probably know more about the ship than their captain for months if not years to come. So when Pidge sent a quiet message to the IGF bridge crew to cover for Veronica (bridge crew), who was busy helping Curtis (former bridge crew), it was simplicity itself for them to make sure their inexperienced Captain never realized she was gone.

Paladins looked after their own.

~*~

Curtis stayed quiet all the way to Cuba, even when they landed on the road outside Lance's gates.

Veronica, who had stolen glances at him whenever she had a half second of attention to spare, kept wondering why. Angry? Afraid? Woried? Definitely at least a little worried, she decided, probably for whoever Jamie was. He didn't attempt to resist or get away, if anything apparently having decided that the only way out of whatever he was in was to just ride it out.

She was happily mobbed by siblings and cousins as people realized just who had dropped in, and at that point she lost track of Curtis - but she'd done her bit, and gotten him here. Extracting herself before sundown to get back to her post, now, _that_ might be a challenge.

Curtis, for his part, stayed where he was. He watched, a little wistfully, as Veronica's family happily mobbed her. And just...waited. There were a billion things wrong and nothing left to be done about any of them. An older woman approached him after several minutes. "You must be Curtis," she said. "Please, come with me."

He did, because he genuinely didn't think he had a better option. The place was pretty - he'd heard the Blue Paladin had retired to a farm, but this looked nothing like a farm. It was...warm, welcoming, vibrant. The scent of flowers on the breeze, the rustling of leaves on their branches. If it weren't for the very large farmhouse and the stables it could have been mistaken for Eden. It was hard not to relax, but he made himself hold firm. Relaxing would not be healthy right now, not for anyone.

He remembered Lance more from his time on the Atlas than anything else - the paladins had all gone their own ways pretty quickly once Allura died. So when the older woman led Curtis to a tree-shaded little glen, planted with flowers whose petals seemed to get caught up in the slightest breeze, he really didn't realize that the long-haired fellow smiling slightly at a swirl of petals on the wind _was_ Lance. 

Curtis _did_ notice, though, that Lance and the _flower petals_ startled at the exact same time...and then the petals drifted gently to the ground. He looked to the older woman - who had to be Lance's mother - but she just shrugged, with a little smile, and walked away now that Lance knew they were there.

"You made it," Lance smiled, and there was almost a visible shifting of gears there, to somehing Curtis found more recognizable as the young man he'd known. Lance walked over and gave Curtis a handshake-hug just as if Curtis hadn't been all but kidnapped. "Good, you look good. I guess Veronica's probably getting mobbed, it's been a while since she visited."

"Uh. Yeah," said Curtis, now utterly baffled. "You _did_ know we were coming, right?"

"Oh, Pidge called, yeah," said Lance, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "I just lost track of time." He yelled at his retreating mother, "Hey, get Veronica over here too, she made me promise to give her answers and she's going to want to get back soon."

Curtis absently covered his ear over the yelling. "Answers _would_ be appreciated," he said. "Firstly, why the Paladins are getting involved in my life. You did get the news about the divorce, right? Pidge has her nose in _everyone's_ business." He couldn't avoid sounding bitter about that. "I mean I should probably thank her, she's probably why I haven't got Keith jumping down my throat, but I would still have appreciated _some_ privacy."

Lance gave him an odd look. "You honestly think even Pidge would poke into Shiro's life more than she had to?" he asked. "I mean I get it, Pidge tends not to respect any rules but her own. But she's always respected Shiro. She didn't bug your house, man. And she didn't set a watch on you _or_ Shiro until he checked himself into the clinic. If we had all the answers already, we wouldn't have to ask you for them."

Curtis blinked, even as Veronica came to join them. "Me? Have answers?" he asked. "I was promised to be given them, not offer them."

"Same," Veronica chirped in. "So make with the talking, little brother. I really do need to get back to the Atlas."

"Okay, okay," sighed Lance, waving the two of them to find a seat among the flowers. "Look. Curtis, you had to give Keith updates so he didn't lose his _mind_ , okay. You providing updates was the best alternative. The others boiled down to people having to stop Keith actively interfering in your lives. Which I know, he probably swears he'd never do, and he's aware it'd be a bad thing _to_ do, but all the examples we have of galra mate-bond are pretty clear - you screw with it, you get at least one crazy galra. We pushed you to give Keith the bare minimum that'd keep worse things from happening."

Veronica frowned. "I...missed the classes on this. When did you learn about this?"

"Krolia," shrugged Lance. "She's been making time to explain a few things to Pidge, me, and Hunk. But it's stuff we'd already seen for ourselves, we just hadn't realized it was...you know, universal."

"Shiro married _me_ ," said Curtis, aggravated. "There was no _mate bond_ , because there never was _mating_."

Lance looked, well, _awkward_. "Dude. That's _Earth_ biology. This is not Earth biology we're talking about here. It's going to go a lot easier if you just roll with it. Veronica doesn't have a lot of time here. Just accept that when Krolia told us, we got it. Because we _have_ seen how crazy galra get when they love someone. You didn't need to send Keith your daily itinerary. He just needed to know that Shiro was okay, and happy. That's it. You could've set an automated beacon if it was a real problem."

Curtis waved that off, crossing his arms over his chest. "I get that you want to protect another paladin, is what I get. Keep going."

"What you told Keith, and asked him to do, was enough for _all of us_ ," Lance continued. "We left you two alone. It was pretty clear Shiro wanted to leave all the space crazy behind, and we were willing to let him do that. We've all moved on in our own ways. But checking into a clinic, that set off alarm bells. Pidge doesn't trust the Garrison. They've been trying - and failing - to find a pilot for the Atlas that can make it transform. She figured the Garrison might use Shiro's lack of legal agency to do stuff...off the books to him. So yeah. She set up extra monitoring. Around _Shiro_. Not you. So when we got word you were filing for divorce...well, we'd like to know why. And when Pidge saw that a squad of MPs was being sent to get you, well...she realized that the only way you could help us was if we got you clear of them. You'll be safe here, as long as you want to stay. But we're on your part of the story now. Why would you leave Shiro?"

" _Pidge_ doesn't trust the Garrison?" snapped Curtis. "Pidge _is_ the Garrison! She's the reason their surveillance is so good, so hard to escape! It's all _her tech_! And _Pidge_ thinks Shiro's in danger? I've been fielding 'friendly visits' from Garrison brass for _months_ , all of them asking if I'd be willing to let someone 'with more time to handle the details' act as Shiro's guardian. All of them hinting that if I didn't cave and sign the papers that 'something bad' might happen to me. - No I did not sign them! I'm not an idiot, and I'm not a monster." But he _was_ increasingly angry. He hadn't said anything up to now and it was cathartic to finally do so. "But I'm not a _god_ , either. It started with the nightmares. Getting woken up several times a night by him getting scared awake, or screaming us both awake. And then it was the flashbacks. And I loved him, Lance, I really did, but I gotta tell you that man scared the shit out of me, and more than once. I was _really_ sure at one point that he'd kill me with that damn arm of his and I'd be dead for hours before he snapped out of it to realize what had happened. And then he _would_ snap out of it. And he'd be so sorry, so ashamed, and I couldn't leave him, not like that. _He_ decided to check himself into the clinic. And you can hate me for it but I thought at least I'd get to sleep through the night, or open my front door without worrying about setting something off. But then the visits from the brass started. And I started _not being home_ so they couldn't ambush me. And I met Jamie. And finally someone gave a damn about _me_. About _my_ fears. About _my_ problems. The way Shiro had done before this whole shit storm started! And I realized...it's been years since I had that, and I decided maybe I should just get the fuck out of you Paladins' way and focus on getting my own life together. Now, why the Garrison wants to arrest me for that, I have _no idea_."

Lance and Veronica just listened, as the whole mess spilled out; Veronica in wide-eyed, this-could-be-a-soap-opera shock, but Lance just looked sad. When Curtis ran out of breath, he just said, "I'm sorry, man. I know. It's hard when it feels all one-sided like that. You could've called us for help, you know. Really. And it'll sound crazy to say it but even Keith would've helped you."

"Yeah," said Curtis flatly. "That _does_ sound crazy. It's not me he cares about. That's always been clear."

"I'll go find Jamie," said Veronica. "Next day off, I'll bring him here too, so the Garrison can't get to him." She nodded to Lance. "I've got enough to go on. Pidge'll tell me the rest. Stay safe."

"Stay safe," Lance echoed, as she ran for her plane. He turned his full attention on Curtis. "We'll find out why the Garrison wants you," he said. "We'll handle it. In the meantime...I think maybe you should stay here. I mean, not just to avoid the MPs. I think...you've been carrying a lot of weight you didn't need to. It's time to put some of it down."

Curtis sighed. "I can't believe I honestly thought filing for divorce would mean I'd get clear of you guys," he said. "It just seems stupid that I thought so now. Sure. Sure, I'll stay. Just...point me at a room, I guess."

"Shiro chose you," said Lance. "And you've gone through a lot, trying to help him, trying to protect him. We weren't there to help you when you needed it, but we're here now. We'll get Jamie clear, and we'll make sure that when you leave here, you leave free. Okay? Can you believe me?"

It was clear that Curtis did believe him; the anger faded into a tired kind of defeat. "I did love him," he said. "But...I feel like a well that's been drained dry. I just...I can't, anymore. For what it's worth, I hope Keith can."

"If I can say anything with complete, one hundred percent certainty," said Lance, smiling wryly, "it's that Keith will either pull it off or die trying. For now, let's focus on you. Let's find a room you and Jamie can share, okay?"

~*~

Pidge leaned back in her chair, in her very private pinprick-locked office.

So Curtis was tucked up at Lance's place, there was a boyfriend to retrieve - alerts were now set up so she'd know when the Garrison knew to look for him. The call for the MPs to arrest Curtis in the first place just said he was 'needed for questioning'. Given what Lance had had to say about Curtis' past few months, she suspected they blamed Curtis for Keith having guardianship over Shiro. They knew better than to try and strong-arm Keith. She'd need to trace that order back to a source, but Curtis had implied multiple visits from multiple people. She'd sent a pile of photos Lance's way but if anything it sounded like Curtis needed a week of sleep and maybe some decaf.

Curtis was right to associate her with Garrison surveillance tech. She _had_ designed most of it. Of course, he'd gotten wrong the reason why. Pidge knew that the Garrison would have built it all anyway, whether or not she was involved in the process. Doing it herself meant she could control it, redirect it at will - the back doors were all hers to know and unlock at need. She'd thought Curtis would know her better than to think she'd bug Shiro's house, but apparently Shiro had stuck to his lifelong habit of never discussing anything that had happened longer ago than maybe a week.

Veronica made it back to the Atlas without her captain realizing she'd been gone, but despite the Atlas being the flagship, that was nothing new. Brass' desire for transformation meant the Atlas was mostly a show piece. Gods help everyone if they actually needed to send it into battle.

And Krolia wanted Keith to have something less angering to the general populace than a repurposed Galra fighter. Which made sense. For now she could send a Garrison craft for Keith to use, but long term he'd absolutely need something less traceable.

Pidge leaned forward, activated the console, and called Hunk.


	9. Windows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It says something about the final season that I can't rewatch it without hitting another chunk of "...that ain't right, that is _not. right._ "
> 
> I can't give them all happy endings. I wish I could. But I will damn well leave them in a better place when I'm done than S8 did.

Takashi Shirogane. Shiro the Hero.

He hated the word 'handicapped'. He hated the word 'disability'. Not for what they meant, in and of themselves, but because if you used them, ever, then people...expected less of you. The bar was lowered. And while that might seem attractive at times, it also meant the _ceiling_ was lowered. If it was a challenge for an able-bodied person, the normal mind thought, then a disabled person shouldn't even be allowed to try.

The entire mind, the entire _psyche_ of Takashi Shirogane was built around, bluntly, 'fuck. that.'.

He'd been born with a condition. His entire life was centered around not just 'living a normal life', but living an _exceptional_ one. There should be no limitation set from the outside. _Everything_ was possible if you wanted it enough.

And Shiro, as he chose to be called, wanted _everything_. The universe. Quite literally. 

There was nothing in Shiro's life to teach him there was any wisdom in the phrase, 'be careful what you wish for'. It had always, only sounded like a limitation, and he had no time for that.

Being a hero was honestly pretty fulfilling. He was loved for what he loved to do, and the example he set. He didn't find it lonely, as others sometimes had. He didn't particularly want to be worshipped, but he loved being known, being respected. It didn't limit him. 

_Love_ was...often a problem.

It wasn't that Shiro didn't love people. He did. And he treasured loving and being loved. But...but. There was always a but.

He'd loved Adam. Adam had loved him. And for a while that had been enough. _But._ Adam couldn't let go of the fact that Shiro had a _condition_. And love became the desire to protect, and the desire to protect became the desire to shelter and limit. And that had been the end of it. Not of love, but of the relationship.

He loved Keith. But it had gone from the fairly simple love of like minds and like interests into something so complex that Shiro was now absolutely in two minds about _everything to do with him_. And that had been the end of that. Only, because Complex, it also _hadn't_. The best the two minds could do was to shove it behind a door and shove a chair under the doorhandle.

He loved Curtis. And then his mind had betrayed him and he'd (don't say _broken_.) had to go away. One day, that blurred into all the other days since he'd checked into the clinic, one of the doctors had gently explained that Curtis wouldn't be coming back. They'd apparently expected the news to hit one of the (far too many) cracks in his mind, but it hadn't. He sat politely, and listened, and thanked them for letting him know. It was a relief to think Curtis would at least still have the opportunity to be happy. That was more than Adam had gotten.

Every day, the doctors came and talked with him. But Shiro had spent his life surviving by never, ever looking back. Always look forward. He wanted to get through today, and tomorrow. Yesterday could - 

Well. Yesterday could, and currently was, biting him very hard, and at will, but he didn't have to like it. The doctors said he had to 'talk about it'. But he knew what had happened. They knew what had happened. What was the point in spending the present talking about it?

No. That wasn't...fair. He knew why they wanted to talk about it. But that didn't mean Shiro was any better at making himself do so. It felt like admitting defeat. It felt like admitting that the ceiling he'd beaten against his entire life had some cosmic reason for being there. And if that was true, then everything he'd been through was deserved. How terrible a human being had he been, to deserve all that?

It wasn't a very good thought. The brain kept throwing up excellent reasons for deserving every bit of it. Every mental road seemed to lead to a downward spiral, and Shiro was tired. So tired.

~*~

Hunk led quite full days. Like Pidge, he believed in having at least four projects going at any one time, so that his attention always had somewhere to be. There were cooking schools to site and staff - he was very hands-on about the staff, because he firmly believed that attitude meant as much as skill and he was not having any of that prima-donna sociopathic-genius bullshit in _his_ kitchens, no sir - and there were the most promising graduates to find placements for. (Not _terribly_ hard. Kolivan had a good eye for where they could do the most good.)

There were his ongoing projects to the colonies and worlds hardest-hit by the loss of regular cruiser traffic. The Empire had been the network that kept hundreds of worlds fed and watered, and there were now many mining colonies in dire need of the basics of survival. Rather than see them exploited, Hunk made them custom equipment. Food was everywhere, really, if you just saw the way it all fitted together. Hungry people would fight at the drop of a hat. Full people would negotiate. (Usually. If they wanted Hunk to ever come _back_ , they definitely would.)

And there were Hunk's private, personal projects. By no means anywhere near as secretive as Pidge, he still had things he didn't want to show until they were Done and Ready, and he kept a workshop on Altea big enough to build midsized spaceships in if he chose. He liked Altea. The Alteans were enthusiastic about food, and they were just as enthusiastic about engineering. Lotor had let a lot of the sciences die out in the colony, to discourage them from ever leaving. Now they had the universe to explore again, and Hunk rather appreciated both their interest and their aesthetic. It had been so long since Alteans had taken to space that Altean designs elicited curiosity more than anything else.

Besides. Coran needed the help...and the company. Hunk had never _really_ thought of Coran as 'old'. Even with the slipperies and Allura's little hints that Coran was an older Altean even without the ten thousand year nap, Coran was just...Coran.

But now, with Allura gone, Hunk could see it. Coran was _old_. And very alone. The Altea he remembered wasn't really the one he was standing on. The cities, the people, the culture he remembered was all history so ancient only he now remembered it. At first he'd devoted himself to rebuilding the Castle of Lions on Altea, the way it had once stood on Arus. All the colonists had happily helped with that.

But once it was done, the question became...what to do with it. There was no royal line of Altea, not anymore. And the Lions had left the universe. The Castle was huge, and it couldn't - and for the poor fellow's remaining sanity, _shouldn't_ \- be just Coran's retirement home. And without something to keep his focus, it had seemed to Hunk that Coran was falling farther into unintelligible nonsense than ever. Even other Alteans couldn't understand what he was talking about much of the time.

So Hunk had hit on another project, and that was Genealogy. There had been a pasttime, on Earth, of tracing one's ancestry back through the years. Genetic tracing was even better, and many rulers of history had sired more than one illegitimate child. If you wanted to revive a defunct royal line, it was just a matter of picking your descendant. The Alteans didn't really need a monarch - there weren't that many of them, and they were fairly used to making decisions as a community. But a symbol, well. They could use that. A symbol of saving _themselves_. And so Hunk got to work on a scanner that would help him work out who was related to whom and in what degree.

The first thing Hunk found out, therefore, was that the war that had destroyed Altea wasn't _nearly_ as long ago from an Altean perspective as it was from a human one. Alteans, at a rough average, lived ten times longer than humans. So, it was as if a thousand or so years of Earth history had passed (which, among other things, made Hunk wince at how stunted Altean cultural growth had been; they'd _lost_ , compared to where they'd been ten thousand years ago, where humans had grown almost exponentially quickly). But the ten thousand year span was only, say, 20 or so Altean generations, compared to the 40 a thousand years would be for humans. 

The Altean colony had been made up of those Alteans that Lotor could find and convince to join him. He was intending more than a futile gesture - he'd wanted to save what he saw as his maternal heritage. So there had to have been at least several thousand initial colonists. Given Lotor had apparently _still_ known rather little about Alteans that he couldn't get from books by the time he met Allura, figure those Alteans were mostly the younger ones, those newer (and thus less skilled at) shapeshifting and blending in. _Probably_ there had been enough genetic diversity for Hunk's project to work. It depended on how far afield Lotor had searched for Alteans, and how long he'd kept at it before he decided he'd gotten enough to keep Altean culture alive. And then waited for the colony to reach a population maturation before starting the 'second colony' ruse. At Hunk's best guess, Lotor's idea of people farming ( _brr_ ) had only slowed, not halted, the colony's growth. Honerva had, on the other hand, wiped out a solid third of what had been the colony. Worse, she'd definitely taken out the _strongest_ third - those most able to sense or channel quintessence. The colony might still retain the potential for those abilities, but nothing that would be measurable for decades.

All of this was, for Hunk, background data - context for whatever he might get from the genetic scans. It meant, bluntly, that the odds of as alchemically powerful a line as Alfor's having survived within the colony was...well, very small. But it was a project he could give Coran to do, that would give the old fellow an anchor to what were now only technically his own people. It meant Coran would have a reason to go out among the colonists, talk to them, get to know them. After the disaster of Lotor and then Honerva, not many particularly wanted to be ruled by a king. But...well. Symbols could be important. Alteans ruling themselves, having something to look up to that was still on the (for lack of a better word) human level - not a savior, not a goddess - that was important. Going forward with something more than _nothing_ was important.

So he built a scanner. The scanner would use an image of a person's face and tie the scan's data to that. It would build its own database as Coran worked, linking each Altean with the others. 

As he showed Coran how it worked, of course, Hunk scanned Coran first. He didn't tell Coran that that was part of the plan. The old boy would work it out on his own, if the results were any good. And if they weren't, well, he wouldn't have gotten anyone's hopes up.

~*~

Krolia's most direct response to Keith flitting around Earth's skies in a repurposed Galra fighter was to fly out to the house to make sure it didn't happen again.

She expected him to be in. The gigantic (by the standard of Earth vehicles) ship took up the whole of the front lawn and then some. It was hard to miss. But when she went through the house, room by room, there was no sign of him. 

When she finally checked out back, in what she thought of as the old tool shed, the sound of her footsteps was enough to have Keith awake and watching the door with a knife in hand by the time she opened it. He sheathed it again at once, of course, realizing who it was. "Sorry about that."

"No, that was wise," said Krolia simply. "I didn't tell you I was coming. Why are you sleeping in the shed?" She looked around, frowning. "And why, since you are, haven't you cleaned it up?"

"I did, a bit," shrugged Keith. "Some of the roof had rusted, that needed patching. Not a lot of rain to worry about, but it does blow in the dust. There's some windows on order. There wasn't much point sweeping until I could keep more dust from blowing in."

Krolia frowned at him. "There is a whole house right there, though."

Keith opened his mouth to tell her _it's full of ghosts_ , and closed it again. She had a lot more familiarity with ghosts than he ever would. And it wasn't like, even if his father's ghost _was_ in that house, that he'd mean either of them any harm. It was just...memories. So he tried, "I guess I was just waiting for you. But I didn't think you'd be out here so soon."

"You flew a Galra fighter over a fair portion of this continent," said Krolia. "Every single city you flew over, big or small, was radioing an attack alert in a panic. You _cannot_ fly that ship on this planet again."

Keith slowly facepalmed. Of course. That had been a really, _really_ stupid mistake. "I...haven't been on Earth much the past few years."

"I'm aware," said Krolia dryly. "I've put in an order for something less panic-inducing for you. Pidge will send over a Garrison craft, I think. In the meantime I will be pleased to ferry you. But - come into the _house_. You have no idea how much I have wanted to have - to have both of us staying here."

She stuttered a bit over the last words, but Keith understood why. She'd wanted for years to be able to come back, and have _the three of them_ be a family again. Eighteen or so years wasn't much at all to a galra mind, and it was much less than that since she'd learned her mate, his father, had died. She was stoic in the way every Blade learned to be, but that didn't mean losing her mate hadn't hurt. Didn't still hurt. Would probably hurt for years yet.

He looked over at one of the walls. Where the map he'd used to triangulate that sense of energy that had been the Blue Lion still hung, and the notes he'd written to the memory of Shiro in his head.

Yeah. He knew _exactly_ what she was dealing with. She'd built the house around the loss, the way he'd started talking to the Black Lion, and the way he'd watched the stars. So he picked up his travel bag, and said, "Sure, mom."

Krolia gave her son a tentative, almost sheepish smile. "Thank you. You can catch me up on how things stand with Shiro, too. I will do my work from here for now."

Keith smiled back. "Thanks," he said.

~*~

Kosmo did not come with them the next morning; Krolia's ship was pretty clearly designed for, at maximum, herself and Kolivan and maybe some supplies for a week at most. Rather, the wolf simply watched the direction they left in, and when Krolia landed her ship (which fit into the parking lot) the wolf appeared, jaw dropped in lupine laughter, beside them.

As Keith gave the wolf good-boy scritches, he asked, "Are you offering to bring me here, then?" and got a slobbery lick on the face. 

"It may not be advisable," Krolia warned. "These humans are here because they are fragile, or broken. The sight of such a creature may cause them great fear or concern."

"Honestly," said Keith, ruffling Kosmo's fur - as much for his own sake as the wolf's, the clinic always made him edgy - "I'd be more worried that they'll say what they saw and not be believed. I don't know how widely known Kosmo is, or what he can do."

"Hm," Krolia mused. "When do you want me to come back for you?"

"Call it 1800," said Keith. "The lot should be clear by then."

Krolia nodded. "I will bring food. Take care, Keith."

Keith smiled; Krolia being maternal tended to do that. "Thanks," he said. As she got back into the ship to fly off, Kosmo gave him a pleading look. "No. You can't come in with me. Not yet, anyway. If I ever have to break Shiro out of there, you can come with me then."

Kosmo gave an aggrieved 'whuff' sound. Keith ruffled his fur. "Thanks for the offer," he said gently. "I honestly think it'd do Shiro good to have you around. But he doesn't have room, and it isn't time yet. I'll let you know, I promise."

The wolf licked Keith's hand, then disappeared with a swirl of blue motes and an inrush of air.

Keith wiped his hand off on his pants, took a deep breath, and headed for the doors.

~*~

Questions. Questions. _Questions_.

This was the third day of them, and Keith was getting the shape of things now. Shiro had come to the clinic, not because he sought treatment, but because he sought confinement. You couldn't turn yourself in to a jail, and if you did, you'd probably have cellmates. Shiro was trying to avoid causing harm, not trying to get better. He'd checked into the only kind of place he knew of where seeing to it he didn't hurt anyone would be a high priority.

Keith loved Shiro wholeheartedly and without reservation, but he didn't love blindly. He'd had many years to get to understand the kind of man Shiro was, and what he would and wouldn't do. He didn't ask perfection of Shiro, nor did he expect it the way so many seemed to do. But part of that was because he knew Shiro always, always, expected perfection of _himself_. He wasn't sure why - Shiro was almost pathologically avoidant when it came to talking about his past, and 'his past' included everything up to the moment you joined him, and everything between those moments. Shiro had never talked about his time in the gladiatorial arena. Or how the druids had chosen him to modify. The clone had been the same, relaying accounts in the barest of detail, sketching events as roughly as he could get away with. 

Part of expecting perfection of himself, Keith had found, meant never, ever, admitting to weakness. If you asked Shiro if he was okay, he only rarely heard this as a genuine inquiry about his health. Rather, he heard 'can you do this thing we need you to do - are you physically able'. The same qualities that had earned him the nickname 'hero' made it nigh impossible for Shiro to know when it was all right to be hurt, when it was all right to be weak, when it was all right to lean on others.

Traits they'd definitely shared. That, in part, was what made Keith ...possibly the only remaining exception in Shiro's life. Shiro had had to teach by example because when he'd met Keith they were exactly the same in this regard. Keith hadn't wanted to rely on anyone else and couldn't believe they'd be of any use if he did. So, to help Keith, Shiro had allowed himself to be weak so that _Keith_ could help _him_ , and by so doing had helped Keith to learn it could be done without...well, the world ending. And Shiro had done this before things got serious - before Kerberos, before Zarkon. Keith didn't know what had happened on the slave ship, but he knew how people tended to be when cornered, injured, hungry and afraid. Before Kerberos, for Shiro to admit weakness was awkward and difficult but possible. _After_ Kerberos...that door got welded shut. With Adam now dead, Keith had the only remaining key.

And now he was studying Dr. Pender and wondering how best to use it. The doctor was trained. This was complex stuff, muddy waters to say the least. Keith might have the key but ...something had broken. Something that meant he couldn't use it the way he had before. He couldn't just walk in there and ask Shiro to talk to him. But it was just as clear he wasn't being particularly forthcoming with his doctors, either.

Finally he interrupted Dr. Pender in the middle of Yet Another Question. "No. My turn, doctor. What do you intend to _do_ with all this you're asking me about?"

The doctor looked startled. "Get at the heart of his problems, Keith." The name still sounded awkward on the doctor's tongue. It was clear he preferred to use 'mister/missus' and a surname, but Keith didn't have a surname. So he used the name he had, but it stuck in his jaw a bit.

Keith gave him a level look. "How," he said flatly. "Plain language, please. I've answered your questions for days. I'm hoping you at least accept by now that I really want to help Shiro get better. But what your questions are telling me is he doesn't trust you. He's been here over a year. You should _know_ all this by now. You should know him better than I do. But it's very clear you don't. So what is it you're hoping to do that will change that, given _I'm_ the one telling you all this and not him?"

Dr. Pender actually looked irritated. "I'm well aware there are certain officers at the Garrison who seem to think I can be bought," he said flatly. "My integrity is not for sale. That man has risked more than any human being in _millenia_ for the sake of the whole human race. It is my honor and privilege to do my best to treat his injuries. I'm aware he has no reason to trust me. But he must want to get better - why else come to us?"

"Because he doesn't trust himself anymore," said Keith quietly. "He scared someone he loves. He _endangered_ people he loves. He'd lock himself in a jail if he could, but he'd hate himself even more if he ended up hurting other inmates. So he came here. He doesn't, from what you're telling me, actually think you can help him. I doubt he thinks anyone can."

The little doctor visibly deflated. "I'm aware," he said, just as quietly. "But we are doctors, Keith. Helping people in his position is what we do. So I hope you'll forgive us that we are going to keep trying to get through to him."

Keith almost smiled. "If you'll forgive me for the same," he said. "But my question stands - he hasn't told you all this himself. So what are you intending to do with it?"

Dr. Pender inhaled slowly. "...Bluntly, Keith, we intend to force the issue." He raised a hand as Keith's expression shifted from neutral to murderous. "Not the way you may be thinking. Hear me out, please."

"This does _not_ sound like a good idea," said Keith flatly. "You do know he's been tortured? Your hands tell me you've been in the work camps. You _know_ what the empire does to prisoners."

"Yes, I do," said the little man, pained. "I'm well aware, in fact. Hear me out. We have had over a year to observe Mr. Shirogane's ...fits. They are repetitive. He is not reliving, at least at present or for the past year, random points throughout his life. Not even random terrible points. He is reliving specific events. Those are the events that haunt him, Keith. Those are the events that scar him. His mind is trying to deal with what happened and _can't_. And so he comes back to those events, over and over. But we don't know what they _are_. We know, to some degree, what will trigger the memory. And what he will do. And that's all. I have been hoping that somewhere in your understanding of the man is somethng we can use to identify what's happening to him. In his mind. What the memory is that haunts him. If we know that, it's possible we can talk him through it. Find a way to address it."

Keith nodded. That did seem to make sense. Still..."Do you trust me?" he asked. "I know you were warned about me."

Dr. Pender scowled. "I was informed you are a stalker, Keith. You certainly know a great deal about Mr. Shirogane's life and mind, and yes, that _is_ concerning given he chose to marry someone who is, I can assure you, very little like you. And while I am assured that your...stalking...is from a source of good faith and necessity, I have to tell you that I find it uniquely disturbing to be told you are basically a galra in a human skin. I have to tell you that, given what is known about Mr. Shirogane's history, I can find it very plausible that he also found you disturbing. The boy he fostered and mentored is of the same people that tortured and mutilated him, violating every corner of his mind and body." He nodded toward Keith's hands, which were going white-knuckled as he gripped the armrests of his chair, squeezing the leather like an oversized plushie. "You are a small mountain of contradictions, none of which are particularly trustworthy. But. You _are_ Mr. Shirogane's guardian. And, at least thus far, you have not acted in a suspicious manner in that role."

"If it would make you more comfortable," Keith growled, "I could wear my Blade uniform. So that you can see the galra when you look at me."

"At the moment, I could see the galra in you if you were wearing a tutu and mardi gras beads," said Dr. Pender, and his tone was bland but it was a forced kind of blandness. He wasn't lying; he knew very well that a galra - and an angry one - was just a few feet away. But he was watching carefully, controlling his fear just as Keith was controlling his anger. 

Each of them, weighing the other. The silence stretched.

Finally, Dr. Pender said, "I believe we can choose to trust each other, given our shared goals. I do not know that I would trust you with anything else, mind, but I will accept that you value Mr. Shirogane's eventual recovery to the same extent I and my team do. So you may tell me why you brought the matter up, now."

"He'll talk to me," said Keith quietly, making himself relax. "But also, I know a lot of what he's gone through, and I have resources you don't already trying to find out more. I agree with you that information is key, but I _wasn't_ there when the empire was hurting him. I was stuck in a shack in the desert trying to cope with the Garrison lying to me and telling me he was already dead. So I have to find out what happened while I wasn't there. But sometimes I've been able to get him to just...tell me, too. Use that. Let me talk to him, watch him."

"I see why you asked whether I trust you," noted the doctor. "Under observation, we may try that. You understand I reserve the right to refuse if I feel you are in any way attempting to manipulate or control him."

"As you understand I reserve the right to pull him out of here if I think you're not going to be of any help," Keith replied in the same tone.

That got ...not a smile, but the echo of amused acknowledgment. "I believe we have an agreement, then." Dr. Pender got to his feet then. "After you," he said. Possibly that was a test - Keith had only seen the way to Shiro once, after all. Keith opted for honesty. The little doctor had good reason to mistrust the galra in general. He had a few reasons to distrust Keith in the specific. But - for Shiro's sake - they needed to be able to work together. Keith thought that _maybe_ he could see Shiro through on his own, but he wanted to take the time to be sure Earth medicine would be no help first. The last resort shouldn't be the default assumption.

So Keith got up and led the way to the first locked door, then the elevator, second locked door, third locked door. Each time, he waited for Dr. Pender to catch up to unlock the door in question. Yes. It meant he knew where Shiro was and could find his way back after having been there only once. But then he hadn't really needed a guide that once, either.

Dr. Pender stopped by Shiro's observation window, and checked his watch. "He will display the evening fit, soon," he said, and set his finger to the button. Keith was fairly sure the button reacted to the man's fingerprint, but perhaps it just required pressure. He didn't spare a lot of thought for it.

Shiro was on the other side.

Shiro knew, too, that sunset set him off. The room's only window to the outside had curtains, and he'd closed them. There was no television, no radio, so he had a book and was settled in the room's only chair to read it.

The curtains did not block _all_ the light. 

As the evening settled into sunset, the light hitting the window darkened from white to yellow to orange to red. Keith made himself stand still and watch as Shiro became increasingly agitated. Twitching as he tried, stubbornly, to focus on his book. Sniffing the air, coughing. Soon the book was set aside and he was on his feet, looking at the ceiling, the floor, the doors. Angry, though Keith thought he might just be angry at himself. And then it was like a switch had been flicked and Shiro was clearly no longer reacting to anything in the room at all, save the bed as a form of cover. Counting by tapping his fingers, shoulder hunched to suggest an arm he didn't have holding a weapon.

"Always behind the bed like that?" asked Keith quietly. His heart wasn't breaking, but that was mainly because he was refusing to let it. 

"Every time we have observed it, yes," nodded the doctor. "The window is the source of the problem, but ...this man has been imprisoned in deep space. There isn't a doctor here that would deny him a blue sky, even at this price."

"Good," said Keith, watching. "...I don't know what he's reacting to exactly. But I think I know what questions to ask to find out. If I get results I will bring them."


	10. The Fanboy Ascendant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. You want to see Keith and Shiro talk. Soon, I promise. I needed a touch more setup.
> 
> Besides. Varkon was so much fun I can't believe he was in so few episodes.

Keith called Pidge. Pidge passed it to Matt. Matt contacted Olia. Olia spread the request to her crew, and the captains she knew she could trust. They shared it with their crews.

And so the request came, through the failed shoplifting attempt of one Gorvax Ardiran, to the ears of Varkon, Defender of the Mall, during a Routine Interrogation.

It deserved the capital letters, if only for the drama. Varkon was fairly well known in the sector for being, basically, Voltron's Biggest Fanboy, and he _had_ been ever since the days of _The Voltron Show!_ and realizing the 'space pirates' he'd once chased out of his mall were, in fact, the Paladins. Varkon had a complete set of Paladin figurines (which went beautifully with his Imperial High Command figurines - he'd staged some really great model battles with them that the local equivalent of Instagram rated highly) and a library full of every bit of Paladin trivia he'd ever been able to get his eager little claws on.

So when Gorvax said he'd only been trying to steal the book because it was rumored the Paladins of Voltron were looking for things to do with the Champion's time in the arena, Varkon was so fascinated by the sheer number of happy opportunities in front of him that he almost forgot to fine the fellow for shoplifting.

The Paladins wanted stuff to do with the Champion, huh? Well. Varkon was the galra on the _case_ , is what he was. Specifically, the case in his basement at home, where he kept the stuff that was great to have but didn't display very well. Privately, Varkon thought of it as his 'girlfriend test box'. If he could show that case to a potential girlfriend and she didn't find some reason to quickly leave, he'd found his true mate.

Varkon finished his shift watching over the mall in a happy, speculative haze. If pressed, he'd probably be forced to admit he'd likely let a lot of petty thieves get away with far too much, that afternoon. But not one Paladin-related thing went missing. Now that he knew there was a demand for it, he kept a specially firm eye on the few stores that traded in Earth merchandise, or Imperial memorabilia. The moment he could, he clocked out and hover-segway'd his way home as fast as he could.

After all, if word was spreading that this stuff was _valuable_ , Varkon's collection was bound to be at risk.

Thankfully, he didn't display it in the main rooms of his little home. Too much risk of things getting jostled or Handled. No, the Collection was in his basement. There were the posters signed by Lance from the Voltron on Ice show. There was the complete set of posable Paladin figurines, complete with activatable bayards, on top of another set of the same figurines but pristine in their boxes. There were the rows of Imperial General figurines, and the Generals and Rebels trading cards, and his painstakingly constructed and painted model of the Zaiforge Cannon. Varkon kept them all clean and dusted and displayed (when he wasn't happily playing with them.)

And there was the little shrine to the Champion's undefeated run in the Arena. _That_ had taken work. Varkon had never been in the military - had never passed the qualification exams, even. And as a mall overseer he hadn't exactly been paid much. It had taken phoebs of work to get the connections, and more than one minor mall criminal had been able to buy his way out of trouble by providing this or that little shiny.

There was the album of stills, taken from a variety of seats, and which Varkon had assigned to various matches based on little clues in the frames. There were programs, arranged in other albums by date. There were trading cards here, too, of the many contenders and their ability profiles, arranged by the date of their defeat. There were one or two oh-so-precious filmed clips. And there were many written accounts, also organized by date, of people who'd been at matches and were willing to tell Varkon all about it. (Or tell someone, at least, who'd then recorded it and traded it to Varkon.)

If the Paladins were looking for information about the Black Paladin's previous employment as a gladiator, well, Varkon had them covered. He was _sure_ of it. At last his moment had come.

The prize of his collection was absolutely going to be a group shot of himself with _all the Paladins_ , and signed by all of them too. Because no one he knew would ever believe him otherwise.

The question was really...how in the name of Daibazaal's deserts was he going to get word to them that he had what they wanted, without half the thieves in the sector coming to take it off him?

~*~

Olia was not a big fan of the galra.

Well. _Obviously_ not. She'd captained a rebel ship for years, lost family and friends to galra attacks. But it was more than just not liking the Empire. She really didn't like the galra _people_ , either. It was, at this point, almost ingrained. Other ships would take galra crew, or part-galra crew; Olia found reasons not to. The empire was gone, and while Olia didn't mind that the galra race wasn't going to pay in perpetuity for causing so much trouble for so long - that never led anywhere good, even if it was richly deserved - she herself wanted to just live out the rest of her life without ever dealing with any more galra.

It was occurring to Olia that maybe this meant she should consider retiring. Because, thanks to the Paladins' request, she now had a rotund and truly bizarre galra sitting opposite her. "Yes, the request's genuine," she said, just a hint of growl to her voice. "I flew with the Green Paladin's brother for a while and he sent the request on her behalf."

Varkon nodded in what he probably considered a sage and serious manner, but which really just made him look like a terrible actor. "It's been causing some problems here at the mall, captain, that request. Lot of thieving, that kind of thing. I'd appreciate it if you convinced your crew to tell people it's a false rumor."

Olia's ears flicked back. "Except it isn't," she said. "Thieves are your problem, galra. They're your _job_."

Varkon dropped the attempt at being a Serious Cop. "Yeah, but - look, if you keep telling everyone about that request I'm gonna get robbed. Like, personally. Everyone around here _knows_ I've got the biggest collection in the sector. I can't afford the kind of security that'd protect my stuff while I'm here. So could you please stop telling people? I mean I'd happily come - WITH my stuff - to show the Paladins all of it, whatever they need, but it took me ages to get it all and I can't afford -"

" _You_ have what they're looking for?" asked Olia. "You." There was clearly some kind of miscommunication going on. This...dumpy little galra moron. Had something the Paladins were looking for. This was the universe she was living in.

But Varkon nodded vigorously. "Promise. I've been working on my collection for decaphoebs. I...uh. Could use a lift to Earth? Once I've cleared the time off with my boss?"

And now Olia was treated to a wide-eyed pleading look that put her in mind of a lynx cub that wanted to play. The universe had clearly turned inside out recently.

She drew the line at giving this little...purple ball of crazy...a lift. But this weirdness was not going to end until she dealt with it, so with a sigh she said, "Do you have a comm in this place with any range on it?"

~*~

The clinic subscribed to the concept of work/life balance, and so the primary team went home on the weekends. Shiro got a few days off a week from Attempts at Talking, and Keith got to spend them trying to remember what a work/life balance _was_ , so he could explain it to his mother.

The house was definitely easier to live in with his mother in it too. It rooted perception in the _now_ rather than the _then_. And there were many things his mother had apparently planned to do once she was free to do so. From what Keith could tell, she'd made a list. Lots of Earth Customs that apparently his father had told her about, or showed her when they were a couple, that she'd looked forward to including Keith in when she got the chance.

Had Krolia been a human woman who had left him as a little child, these attempts would - Keith was _absolutely_ certain - have been built out of bricks of sheer burning awkwardness, and quite possibly would have had him wishing he were an orphan again. But for Krolia, half the point was in finding out why people were supposed to do these things at _all_ , and thus there was a degree of mutual anthropological study that made things not just tolerable, but interesting.

Take movie night, for example. Keith couldn't really imagine his dad (who, in hazy childhood memory, loomed over _everything_ ) curled up against his six-and-a-half-foot purple mother. He tried once or twice before realizing that that way, madness lay, and stopped. But clearly, the concept had been discussed. Krolia wanted to know about popcorn, and why making the grains explode first was necessary, and if there were any special tools to get the things out of your teeth afterward. She'd rebuilt the house with the kind of perfect memory humans generally didn't _have_ , even locating copies of his father's movie collection (no small feat, in the wake of the occupation). Selecting a movie to watch had been a more involved process than it might have been; war movies were Right Out, and so were romcoms and any movie where a love interest died before the credits. Alien invasion movies were also Right Out, as were any apocalyptic or post apocalyptic stories. And after eliminating all of those, there wasn't a lot left to choose from.

They ended up watching an animated thing that mostly seemed to be 'what animators thought of when they listened to specific pieces of music'. This _mostly_ worked, although Keith had to pause it a few times to explain the symbolism of pink elephants and why brooms didn't actually work like that and why the mouse was not a Druid. (He lost the last one.) It wasn't that Krolia didn't know that cartoons weren't real. It was more that galra in general had for centuries not really had much use for flights of imagination, and thus a basic cultural response to a fairly pure example of exactly that just elicited a baffled "... _why?_ " out of them. Even from Krolia, who for the most part _enjoyed_ watching humanity imagine. ("It's the imagining of your world as worse or more dangerous than it is _for fun_ ," she tried explaining. "I understand doing so to prepare and plan, but isn't this movie supposed to _entertain_? Why would you entertain yourself with something meant to signify you're losing your mind?")

It didn't really help that in the main, Keith agreed with her. He didn't have a lot of use for horror or apocalyptic stories either. He had reality for that. But he _had_ spent a lot longer around humans than his mother. That helped rather more than his human heritage seemed to. He checked the release dates on the movies, thinking about that, and realized most of the alien invasion or apocalyptic stories were older than he was - meaning his father had watched them before Krolia had literally dropped into his yard. Keith knew his father had been a good man. But some of the details his mother had remembered and put into this house raised more questions than answers. 

Lights on the front windows derailed this train of thought, but only slightly. Keith put away the movies and headed out to see a genuinely bizarre looking spacecraft settling in for a landing. It was a light sort of lime green, with a bubbled exterior and a lot of rounded corners. Closed hatches suggested possible gunports, but the ship wasn't particularly large. Krolia came out with a pistol ready in hand, just in case it was trouble. Her agitated expression said she couldn't place the design either.

When the hatch opened to reveal Matt, both of them relaxed. "You're into ship design now?" asked Keith. "Or where did that thing come from?"

"Oh, it's my design," Matt confirmed. "Hunk's setting up a kind of contest on the liberated worlds. Trying to get people interested in innovating again now that it's not going to get stomped on by the Empire."

"It's...hideous," said Krolia, in the tone of someone who'd really _tried_ to think of something positive to say and just couldn't think of any.

"Hey, I like green," grinned Matt. "But showing off my prototype isn't why I'm here. You asked for information about the Champion, Keith. Turns out, you've already met the expert."

Keith and Krolia shared a look; Keith shrugged. If he'd met an expert on the Champion, he _really_ didn't - and then Varkon, clutching one of his handmade binders to his chest, emerged from the hatch. "so...this is where humans come from," he said. It was hard to tell if he was impressed or just frightened.

Krolia still looked lost at sea, but Keith had long ago developed the skill of memorizing the faces of cops that had it in for him. "I remember you," he said warily. "You decided we were pirates and chased us out of the space mall."

" _To be fair_ ," said Varkon quickly, his tone making clear he wasn't accusing, just defending himself, "you'd all come wearing disguises _and_ one of my shop keepers called the thief alarm on you. And then you all ran rather than answer any questions."

Now Krolia was eyeing Keith. He shrugged at her. "Part habit. Part was the uunilu decided he wanted my Blade and when I wouldn't sell it to him he pulled the alarm so he could take it."

"You. Asked an _uunilu_. About a Marmora blade?" asked Krolia. It was clear it had been a while since she'd heard anything that disappointingly stupid. "Luxite is valuable, Keith. Of course an uunilu would try to take it from you."

Keith bit his lip on _if you'd left Dad with some_ notes _I might have known that_ and turned his attention back to the mall cop. "You told Matt you know about the Champion?" he asked. "What's your name?"

He almost stepped back from the sheer delighted awe the simple question elicited from the little galra. (And that was another thing - Keith was very used to looking _up_ at galra - but Varkon was shorter than himself, and that was really odd.) The mall cop tried to thrust out his chest with pride, but mostly thrust out his stomach. "I am Varkon, Defender of the Mall, Red Paladin Keith sir!"

Krolia went stone-faced. Keith had at least _some_ experience with this kind of awe (though not from someone who was reminding him a) that he had a human side and b) that his human side was screaming 'cop - run away from' about) and managed to not visibly react. Matt, who was behind Varkon and had neither need nor desire to pretend this wasn't hilarious, was quietly laughing so hard his face was turning red.

In order to get some control of the situation, Keith asked, "What do you know about the Champion?"

It was new, to see a being bounce back and forth between _kinds_ of excitement. Clearly, meeting Keith on friendly terms was something Varkon would be telling everyone about for ages to come. But he was just as excited to share what he knew and what he had. He held out a binder. "Everything!" he said happily. "Anything you want to know. I've been putting together a complete run for _decaphoebs_. Who he fought, how long the battles took, all the official commentaries, collector's cards of his opponents, _everything_. This is just the first binder but I wanted you to see. I asked your friend here to bring it all, because everybody in my sector knows about my collection. Didn't want some little thief to come take it while I was away from my post!"

"I think you'd better come inside then," said Krolia diplomatically. "You too, Matt." 

Matt waved her off. "In a minute," he managed between attempts to catch his breath from laughing. "He's not kidding about his collection. I've got the whole thing here in my ship. I'll bring it in. You guys go on."

~*~

Varkon was indeed an _expert_ on the gladiatorial games. An enthusiastic and detail-oriented expert. Who had charts, statistics, and photographs. And in several cases, trading cards.

It was...not _entirely_ unlike the old Roman games. Except that it was only about the show when the Emperor _wasn't_ in attendance. And galra gladiators, regardless of how they came to be gladiators in the first place, only took part in death games when they had, in fact, both been sentenced to death and Zarkon was watching. 

The rest of the time, the slaves of the arena were in the care of their sponsors, who - as a _general_ but not universal rule - were keen on making coin, rather than seeing blood per se. This did not mean that the slaves were well treated. At least, if by 'well' one meant 'humanely' or 'with kindness'. Their physical health was important. Their mental health was not. Many slaves on a winning streak were handed over to the druids for their experiments, in exchange for which the sponsor either received a generous lump sum (if the slave died or was otherwise never able to fight again) or a slave more likely to win the next match. The slaves weren't given a say in this, and often weren't given any kind of anaesthetic either. 

The games were a lot bloodier when the Emperor was in attendance. Zarkon had firm views about strength, and mercy, and matches were always to the death when Zarkon was watching. 

Shiro was the only human ever to fight in the arena. He was also one of a handful of arena slaves to be entirely undefeated; hence his name of Champion. Shiro's title was especially notable in that very few non-galra survived the arena at all; galra gladiators would nearly always live to fight another day, but 'lesser races' tended to be killed when defeated. Shiro had survived and _escaped_.

Keith and Krolia let Varkon regale them with tales of the fights, generally accompanied by the mall cop holding up pages from his binders, showing the enemies he'd fought and how he'd beaten them. To Varkon, armchair warrior, it was all just...excitement. Grand tales. Heroic victories. To Krolia it was not really news; the arena had operated for centuries.

For Keith, it was eye-opening. At last he understood why Shiro had blacked out the entire period - why he'd walled those memories away. It wasn't _just_ the constant battle for survival. It wasn't _just_ very likely having been awake and screaming while the druids cut off his arm, attached a metal one.

It was that, in order to live, Shiro had had to choose to kill. Over and over. The Emperor would not stand for mercy to a defeated foe. Such a choice made even _once_ would crack the man Keith knew to the core. Made over and over? No, there was no doubt this haunted him now. And it wouldn't have been _galra_ Shiro was required to kill, either. No, _those_ matches weren't to the death unless Zarkon was there. So most of the fights to the death had been against other slaves, people in the same horrible situation as himself. 

It was impossible to listen to the little mall cop talk about killing strokes and how many minutes a match had stretched on and think of him as harmless. Varkon saw nothing wrong in the games. He didn't _miss_ them, which was at least something, but he saw nothing wrong in them. Put a glass of water by him so his throat didn't dry out, and Varkon could go on for hours. And did.

Keith had a job to do, though. Even this, blurred together as it might be for Shiro now, had high points and low. He needed to figure out _which_ fight was triggering him around sunset every day.

"...Oh, and this one was really good," Varkon was saying, turning a page. "The last Pyrexian. He'd won a few dozen matches, you know. Undefeated, just like the Champion. It's cos of those arms, see. Pyrexians could shoot out this liquid, from their wrists, right? And it'd catch fire when exposed to air. Actual flamethrower arms! Real hard to beat. But the Champion, right, he just takes cover and counts, because it takes the Pyrexian some time to make more fire, right? And once it takes the guy longer than usual to reload, the Champion knows he's out of fire-throwing-stuff and just - fwoom!" Varkon had action figures, and was happily demonstrating the charge from cover using some of the pillows from the couch. "Cut the guy's head clean off with his metal arm! They said you could hear the cheers fifteen levels away."

That was it. Fire. Taking cover from _fire_. "The ...Pyrexian," Keith interrupted. "Was the fire red?"

"Really red," Varkon nodded. "Something to do with the chemicals." He held up the page in his binder. "It's all right here. Chemically produced flame jets."

Something else Varkon said twigged. "The _last_ Pyrexian?" Keith repeated.

At least the mall cop could be sad about the extinction of a species. "Yeah," said Varkon, more seriously. "I mean at the time a lot of people thought the Champion was one of a kind, too. I'd guess only his handler knew there was a whole planet of you guys. But yeah. That was the _last_ Pyrexian. The fleets took out their homeworld and most of the population. Too dangerous, see. Some got taken in for the arena and for the druids to work on, but that was it. Why?"

Keith took the binder then, looking over everything Varkon had gathered. It was almost creepy, really. All the meticulous scrapbooking skill you'd expect of, say, a baseball fan, or some other non-lethal sport. "Did that happen often?" he asked. "The last of a species?"

"Sometimes," Varkon nodded. "Everyone's gotta go sometime."

But Shiro had had to choose to live at the expense of an entire _race_. He couldn't have saved the Pyrexian, of course - Zarkon would have just ordered them both shot dead. But that wouldn't change how Shiro felt about being the person to deliver the deathblow. "...How long can you stay, Varkon?" Keith asked.

"Uh. Not long?" Varkon hedged. "I mean it's a huge honor to meet you and I'm really glad my collection can help, but somebody's gotta keep security in the mall. They're really lost without me."

"Would you mind if I kept this stuff here for a while?" asked Keith. "It'd be safe. I'll get it back to you as soon as we can."

Varkon looked deeply conflicted. "...You'll take good care of it all right?" he asked. "No hard feelings about me chasing you guys or anything? Only I've spent decaphoebs -"

"No hard feelings," Keith assured him. "I asked for an expert for a reason. It's really only these binders you've made that I needed, but I understand I've put your collection in danger." Not that that really bothered him, but - he did need this information, and if the price was looking after several boxes of toys, well, there were definitely worse prices.

"Okay," said Varkon. And then looked embarrassed. "Um. Could I get a picture with you? And the others? Nobody's _ever_ gonna believe -"

Studiously ignoring his mother, who was trying hard not to grin, Keith said, "Yeah. Did you want me to wear a uniform?"

It wasn't _that_ much of a bother - the binder may have unlocked how to help Shiro, after all, and it wasn't as if he were offering to wear a cow costume. But Varkon reacted as if it were the very soul of kindness and generosity. "You'd do that? Could I get one with me and you in your Blade uniform? Maybe with the sword and everything?"

"I'll go get it," said Krolia, getting up to do so - and probably get the laughter out of her system. She _approved_ \- Keith could tell that much - but she definitely also found the whole thing hilarious.

And so, before Matt took Varkon back to the mall, Keith got into his Marmora uniform and took a few pictures with a madly grinning - one might even say adoring - Varkon. He even signed them; he might not have, but after an evening with Varkon's 'collection' he was pretty sure that the autographed photos were going to be kept in some kind of dark shrine far away from where most people would ever see them. Varkon wasn't the showing off kind; he was the hoarding kind.

Getting back into his street clothes, his mother leaned in the doorway of the only room Keith had redone; his own. "It's good of you to be kind to a runt," she said. "I'm glad I got to see that."

Keith frowned at her. "A what? He was a little shorter than most galra, but -"

"Keith, Varkon was a _runt_ ," said Krolia. "I realize humans use that as an insult. It's an actual state for galra. It's probably why many galra have trouble taking you seriously at first. If a galra has a multiple-birth - what humans call having twins, or triplets - at least one will be born small. They're usually less healthy than a full-sized child. Varkon was definitely also born lucky; if he'd been a child anywhere near one of the military bases, he would have been killed long ago. Zarkon had a general order for runts to be executed at birth."

Keith blinked. "...I'm a runt?" he asked. This was new.

Krolia clearly thought people who had a problem with runts were not worth her time; she shrugged. "To some, I would not be surprised. Others have likely decided it is your mixed heritage. Honestly, it's unlikely anyone will know for certain for at least a few more decades. You haven't stopped growing yet."

Part of Keith thought this might explain a few things - like having been the shortest kid in his class in _every_ class. And the second shortest Paladin, without Pidge's dual excuses of being several years younger and a girl. But maybe galra just didn't do growth spurts as such, too. A much more human-savvy part of him decided, at once, that this was not one of his mother's theories that he was ever going to talk about, _ever_ , and especially not anywhere Pidge or Lance would ever hear about it. So he just said, "I'd noticed that. I don't grow _much_ , but...yeah. I'd kind of expected that to stop by now."

His mother smiled at him. "I think humans are still growing at your age," she said. "Galra keep growing for most of their first century. We live much longer than humans. It takes longer for us to finish maturing. I don't think you have anything to worry about." She indicated Varkon's binders. "Will those help?"

"I think so, yeah," Keith agreed. "The files at the base were a lot more basic. Name, race, date, who won. I've....got to commend Varkon's eye for detail, I guess."

"It bothers you that he could take their lives so lightly," said Krolia. "Let it go. Varkon has very likely spent the whole of his life out of sight of the Imperial military - if an officer so much as saw him he would likely be shot. The war, the lives lost...it's all just television to that one. You should get some rest. You will want to tell the healers about this find in the morning."

Keith thought about that day in the space mall. Looking back on it now, he couldn't believe he'd genuinely been afraid of an undersized, overweight mall cop. It felt like ages ago. They'd been in battle...but the memory of Earth was still fresh in the mind back then. He hadn't known who he was, or why he was. And all his battles had been from the comfortable shelter of a Lion's armored hide. He hadn't known where the dagger came from or why his father had given it to him - which was how he'd gotten into Varkon's cross hairs in the _first_ place, but still. It felt like he'd been a different person altogether. Running from a mall cop on a floating cow with most of the team sharing its bewildered back.

"I will," he promised Krolia. But he wanted to curl up with something hot first, and read through more of those binders.

~*~

Dr. Pender was amazed, and horrified, by the binders. He couldn't read them - they were written in galra - but Keith helpfully translated and he took notes as they went along. The section about the pyrexian was translated in full for his notes.

"And a ... _fan_...had this?" the doctor asked. He was definitely having trouble making sense of it.

"The Empire didn't really do ...Hollywood," said Keith slowly. "Colony worlds would broadcast stuff, whatever entertained their own people, and if other planets like it too, well, great. The galra were entirely military for ten thousand years, though. So their taste was more...reality television? Only _really_ reality television. The arena was on Zarkon's central command ship - that thing's bigger than Earth is. Having a season ticket to that was an honor. Owning a seat was bigger. Getting to sit anywhere near Zarkon..." Keith shrugged. "Think the old Roman games. Only, if the fighters weren't galra, more bloody."

Dr. Pender scowled. To his credit he didn't try to defend the Roman games; they'd certainly killed enough animals. It would take a skilled historian with either big brass balls or an astounding degree of cultural obliviousness to say for certain whether the Romans, presented with sentient alien species, wouldn't have had them fight each other to the death for the crowds. The only moral high ground humanity might claim would be 'growing out of it' - but as they'd 'grown out of it' in an utter absence of the _temptation_ , it didn't count for much. "So Mr. Shirogane's hand ended a species," he said quietly. "In the name of survival."

Keith nodded. "If he had friends at all, during that time - and it's Shiro, he always makes friends - then he'd have seen that pyrexian as a friend even if they'd never met. He'd have seen it as being no different than the galra. A lot of soldiers would have told you they _had_ to conquer other worlds, for the quintessence to run their entire economy."

The doctor shook his head. "I am well aware of the tradition of making excuses for atrocities," he said. "This is...complicated. I had hoped we could take this information and address Mr. Shirogane's problems immediately. But I think my team and I will need to take some time to truly process this ourselves, first. We cannot use it to help him if we do not truly understand how this event shaped him." He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "So _your_ assessment is that he feels he is guilty of genocide."

Again, Keith nodded. "This isn't some 'hero' thing," he said. "Shiro's spent his life trying to ...be an example. Something people would want to remember. He thought he was going to die not too long after Kerberos. And then he got taken by the Empire, and I think...he wanted to live to get the Holts home. Or, at the very very least, warn Earth the galra were coming. So he fought. But that meant putting his life, and Earth's freedom, over the lives of everyone who was otherwise...well, _on his side_. Outside the actual fights, the only people around him that would have understood anything of his situation were the other prisoners." He thought about the early days, when they were still getting the hang of their lions, before they'd left Arus. How _bothered_ Shiro had been by the awe and fear of the freed prisoners. "I think he's spent a lot of time trying to make up for what he had to do."

"Mmmm," mused the doctor, adding it to his notes. "You may be right. And it seems clear that we are going to need to incorporate you into his treatments. Not just for the information you seem able to procure, but because, having been present for many of his decisions, you can speak with greater authority than we can. I suspect Mr. Shirogane may dismiss our arguments as irrelevant because 'we were not there'. You weren't either, but you're the best we have for this. But I must warn you, when he speaks of you it becomes a personality clash quite quickly. 'Shiro' and 'Ryou' do _not_ agree on you."

"There's probably a lot to talk about there, too," said Keith quietly. "I'm not really the leader he seemed to think I could be."

That got a rather sharp look from the doctor. "I have one complicated patient already," he said. " _Try_ not to make it two."


	11. The Monkey's Pawswipe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can all stop holding your breath now. Just don't hit me. This is by no means where they're going to stay. Any of them, really.

There really wasn't any way to guess how it would go, but that wasn't going to stop him.

Dr. Pender was in a conference room a few floors down, with the team of experts that, together, worked out how to help Shiro. He felt the sooner they were informed, the more time they'd have to process Varkon's offering of information.

In the meantime, Keith had been given permission to - finally, _finally_ \- talk to Shiro directly. Provided he promised to leave if Shiro asked him to do so, and no violence ensued. Which included Shiro having any kind of flashback.

Shiro was, for now, reading in the chair by the window. It was as good a moment as any, really. Keith opened the door.

Shiro's neutral expression - clearly, expecting one of the doctors - shifted to a frown as he realized who it was. "...I guess I shouldn't be surprised," he said. "I got the last message from Curtis. I half expected you to turn up that afternoon."

Keith closed the door behind him, looking away. "...I was," he admitted. "But not allowed to see you before now."

"So you've been here...what, weeks?" asked Shiro, disapproving. "Months? After _walking out at my wedding_ , now is when you turn up? Do you have _any_ idea how wrong that is?"

The words landed like punches, and Shiro hadn't raised his voice or left his chair, or even put down the book. Like he hadn't expected anything better. But Keith had honestly expected this to hurt. If Shiro were in any kind of place where this _didn't_ hurt, he wouldn't be in a clinic like this in the first place.

So he inhaled around the hurt, and sat down on the floor so that Shiro had to look down at him. They weren't equals, here. Not right now, anyway. This wasn't his friend. Keith wasn't entirely sure what it _was_ , yet. That would take more time. "I'm sorry," he offered.

Shiro's eyes narrowed. "Really. What are you sorry for?"

It was clear he meant that to stump Keith. That he didn't think Keith had thought that apology out. But Keith knew exactly what he was apologizing for. "I'm sorry I failed you," he said. "I'm sorry I wasn't - that I'm not - the person you thought I could be."

Shiro studied his book a while. "...No," he said at last. "You're not."

He went back to his book, but Keith stayed right where he was. If Shiro intended to shame Keith into slinking out - well, he'd have to rethink his tactics. Keith focused on staying calm, on not getting defensive. This wasn't about him, however painful it might be. It was about Shiro. About getting Shiro to a place where he might, possibly, forgive himself. He had to stay focused on that.

Finally, Shiro asked, "Why did you leave the wedding? Right in front of me?"

Honest. But more than honest, be truthful as well. "Because it hurt too much to stay," Keith admitted. "And I'd seen what I needed to see. You were happy. Curtis loved you."

"But that wasn't enough for you," said Shiro. "Curtis - _Curtis_ , not me - had to send _updates_ to you. So clearly, that _wasn't_ all you needed to see. You could have been normal about it. You could have dropped in for visits. Called."

Damn this hurt. It wasn't like Shiro was wrong. Keith had used Shiro's advice as a roadmap to being human for ...nearly as long as they'd known each other, really. Until things broke, anyway. It was clear enough that without that advice, Keith wasn't doing so well at the human part of his life. "I needed to know you were all right, that you were happy," Keith admitted. "It's...a galra thing. Mom, and - others - thought I might ....get unstable... if I didn't have that. So mom talked to Curtis. I didn't visit because the work I'd been doing had me most of the way across the known universe from Earth...and you'd kind of made clear you didn't want to see me."

"A galra thing," Shiro echoed. "That gave you the right to my private life? To Curtis' life?"

"I only needed to know you were happy," Keith repeated. "That you were all right. That's _all_. Curtis chose to send more than that. I didn't ask him to. This wasn't - isn't - about possession or right, Shiro. Just about _you_." He stopped. Made himself stop. This _wasn't_ about him. This was about Shiro. 

"If that's all it was," Shiro said, "Why are you here now, when your presence is clearly not contributing to either of those things?"

"Because someone has to be," said Keith. "Someone had to speak for you. Curtis protected you as long as he could. When he couldn't anymore, Pidge put me in his place. I won't bother you more than I have to. But I'll protect you as long as you need it."

This was news to Shiro, clearly. "What are you talking about? This is Earth. The occupation is over. The _war_ is _over_."

"You're the only captain to make the Atlas transform," said Keith simply. "And while you're here, you need an advocate to speak for you. Curtis did that while he could. Now I am. Becuse if we didn't, the Garrison would appoint your advocate. And the Garrison's only interest in you is what you can do for them. They wouldn't care if you got better or not."

Shiro winced. "I knew there was a risk," he said, and the tone suggested he was blaming himself for something. 

Keith had an idea what it was. "You couldn't have checked yourself into a jail, Shiro," he said. "And you'd have hated yourself if you hurt the prisoners. Maybe...you're not ready to work on getting better, yet. But I'll stay to make sure you have the choice, if you change your mind."

That got a flash of real anger from Shiro. "What do you think I've been _doing_ here, all this time?" he snapped.

"Protecting the world from you," said Keith, meeting Shiro's eyes now. "I've been here since Curtis left. I've been talking to the doctors. I _know_ they want to help you. And you're not letting them. That's your choice. Just don't pretend to me that it's something it's not. You didn't come here to get better. You came here so you wouldn't hurt Curtis or anyone else."

" _Don't tell me what I want,_ " snapped Shiro, definitely angry now. "You left! You couldn't handle taking orders again after leading the team and you. _left_. And then gave Kolivan the same headache! And when you _finally_ deign to return to what should've been your _home_ , you took the Black Lion from me. _Completely_. I couldn't sense him at all. The one thing I had that made everything _bearable_."

It should have hurt, but Keith was genuinely _surprised_ at the sudden shift. This was Ryou, wasn't it? There was no softness to Shiro's expression, the way he'd always had even when disappointed or angry. He'd been like this - yes. After taking command again, after the battle with Zarkon. Like nothing Keith would ever do would be right. _This_ was Ryou.

Unfortunately, Keith had no real idea how to talk to Ryou. It was Shiro still, but an angle, a facet, he wasn't familiar with. 

He tried honesty, on the grounds that he didn't have anything else. "I never meant that for you," he said. He wasn't particularly worried about Shiro hitting him - the cybernetic arm was in a closet, and Shiro had lost a lot of weight. A punch wouldn't do any real damage other than require Keith to leave for the day. "I left because someone had to leave. I left because the Black Lion was yours first and the last thing I ever wanted to do was take him from you. I left so no one else had to leave, so the Lions didn't have to decide who was unfit to stay. I left because I was failing you and nobody else was." He took a deep breath. "I didn't mean to take him from you. I didn't know that would be a side effect. But...I would have asked Allura to help you anyway. I couldn't...I can't...live in a world that doesn't have you in it too. I'm sorry. I didn't realize how selfish that was."

No more did Shiro know what to say to such a declaration, it seemed. Or Ryou either. His lone hand clenched and unclenched, clearly trying to not knock Keith the rest of the way to the floor. Finally he gritted, "...Get out. Just...get. out."

The words were said; Keith had given his word. He got to his feet and left the room, closing the door behind him. Honoring the spirit as well as the letter of the wish, he didn't watch Shiro from behind the privacy window, either.

So he missed how small, how miserable Shiro looked, as he tried and failed to focus on his book.

~*~

Pidge pinched the bridge of her nose, and pushed her chair back.

Voltron was one of those creations that, once made, you couldn't really imagine as ever having been, or ever being, anything but itself. It was like imagining the Eiffel Tower in a different shape. The lions were...what Voltron was _always meant to be_. It didn't matter that giant robot cats weren't exactly practical to run around the universe in. They were beautiful, and elegant, and powerful.

Unfortunately, some of Pidge's bosses only noticed that last part. The Lions were altogether too self-aware for the Garrison. Altogether too picky. There was a wide universe out there, much of it unmapped even by the Galra Empire in Earth's vicinity. It was the fifteenth century all over again, with everyone wanting Earth to get a piece of the larger universe.

There were obstacles, of course. Interstellar travel depended on the teludav - which required scaultrite, which required weblums, which didn't travel in galaxies as young as the Milky Way. Or you could use hyperjumps, but you still needed crystal drives, and that meant large crystals from a friendly balmera. Crystals were slow to grow and the only balmera near Earth had come as a direct favor to the Yellow Paladin, and _any_ attempt to exploit it would result in Earth being...well, abandoned. The Garrison already knew where it stood without the technology of the farther galaxies. 'Up shit creek' didn't even begin to cover it. So they tiptoed with great care around the Balmerans, and traded for scaultrite with the Blade of Marmora when they could.

And seethed. This wasn't like coffee beans, or tulips. Earth couldn't just _grow_ balmera crystals itself. It couldn't just artificially create scaultrite. 

Not that it wasn't trying. Pidge oversaw entire divisions of Garrison scientists whose entire purpose was to figure out how Balmeras grew their crystals, and just what the process was to create scaultrite. Alteans might be content to harvest what the universe freely offered; humans were never that patient. Nor was humanity content to wait until the Lions of Voltron deigned to return. Clearly, Earth had the _capacity_ to build Voltron-like ships. The IGF Atlas was of human design and human construction, even if it had incorporated Altean technology. And it had transformed under the hand of a human captain. So clearly it _was_ possible to make a Voltron for Earth.

At first, Pige had been entranced by the sheer challenge of it. She knew a _lot_ of how the Lions had functioned; it had let her modify Green more than once. But to build without the trans-reality ore, just using crystals, yet retain the possibility of transformation, unification...that _was_ a challenge worthy of her. The MFE pilots were really where it started. With Voltron gone, the Lions gone, and the Paladins retired and scattered, the stars of the Garrison were the MFE pilots. The first humans to fly human designed, human built, crystal-powered aircraft. The first humans to really strike the galra hard enough that the galra had felt the sting. Generals had come to Pidge and basically pointed at the MFE pilots and said 'more like that'. _More like that._ But not just 'more planes'. They already had a solid team of pilots. Pilots got along about as well as cats did, on the whole - sometimes very well, sometimes horrifically badly. The larger the group, the more likely there would be problems.

Pidge had latched on to the project dossier's language in a very precise and particular way. The project was pitched as an _exploratory_ group. Ships to explore new worlds in. Build a human nation that wouldn't die out if something happened to Earth. So...not more planes. She designed craft for traversing and studying terrain - including for rare minerals - and more craft for studying any seas that might be found, even if they weren't necessarily made of water. Land, Air, Sea. She couldn't state up front that there should be species diversity in the crews, but she could imply it as a good idea at the construction level. Humans were adaptable - but not _that_ adaptable. Unfortunately, Pidge was increasingly worried that the brass hadn't taken the hint. Oh, they'd signed off on her designs with eager anticipation. But the way they kept asking her if there would be a 'voltron' out of all this...well, that bothered her. The Lions had been dormant ten thousand years just to wait for five people of the right combination of traits to turn up who could get along. For _fifteen_ people to be that much in sync...she really didn't think it could be _done_. And would be genuinely frightening if it did.

So she'd built an interlock system into the ships, but it didn't draw on the quintessence of the pilots at all. Instead, Pidge had designed intricate keys, not unlike the old missile launch keys in concept. The pilots could use their keys to activate the interlock system, which would pool power and resources for the lead pilot - currently, still, Griffin - to command. A voltron of sorts. If you had no real idea what Voltron had really been, and none of the Garrison brass did. It would transform. It could - in theory - fight. But not for all that long. Even using crystals far outside the class of ships they would be powering, there wouldn't be enough to power a giant robot for very long. It was a design flaw, but one Pidge fully intended to allow to remain. She remembered really well what Voltron could do. There was no one on the planet who hadn't flown a Lion that she felt comfortable entrusting that power to. And she could always explain it away as the price paid for the Garrison having full control over who piloted which machine. They were still deeply aggravated that their expelled student had come back _in charge of_ their salvation, and his crew had been basically Garrison dropouts. It was part of why Shiro was so idolized, and the MFE pilots. _They'd_ graduated and stayed within the Garrison system.

Pidge didn't really know what to make of Griffin. She knew Keith didn't much like him, although she only knew that because she'd gotten pretty good at reading Keith. She didn't know _why_. He seemed intelligent enough. Garrison-loyal, but then pretty much anyone who'd lived through the galra occupation _was_. More to the point, she didn't have Griffin pegged as a fanatic. Presented with evidence, she could believe he'd at least hear someone out. She didn't _have_ evidence. As yet. That didn't violate someone's privacy, anyway, and Hunk and Lance had both had Chats with her lately about maaaaybe cutting back on her tendency to watch other people so closely. More to the point, what little she _did_ know about Griffin had him down as a maniac for the rules, and thus evidence that was procured by non-rule-compliant means probably wouldn't convince him and _would_ give him something he could use against her later. 

And so Pidge was in the unenviable position of being dead certain at least one general wanted to become king of some poor planet somewhere, and no one she could tell that could quietly do something about it without causing some kind of interplanetary brouhaha.

More evidence-gathering it was, then. Pidge took the full data-crystal out of its socket and pocketed it. Sooner or later, whoever it was would slip up. She'd have a name. She needed a plan for what to do after that.

~*~

It was a strange thing to realize your hero was also - at least at the moment - a kind of psychic vampire.

Lance had never been a man of inner complexity. He liked what he liked, didn't like what he didn't like, and really hadn't spent much if any time _brooding_ about either. It was one of those things that had always aggravated him about Keith. Not _everything_ was a deeply life-altering event. You didn't need to think _everything_ to death. Shiro had been his idol since before he'd ever seen Blue. Following Shiro's orders hadn't taken any thought. Shiro knew what he was doing and he was a good person, someone you could trust. So Lance had. Even when it had gotten kind of weird, with Lotor and everything, Shiro hadn't been _wrong_. 

But Lance couldn't deny that Curtis was doing _visibly_ better by the day, out here. He had Jamie with him, and the two volunteered to help around the farm as a consistent pair. And as the days passed, Curtis went from a man who looked like he'd jump at a mouse's squeak and kill for a fifteen minute nap, to ...well, a fairly healthy adult who knew how to laugh, how to relax, how to love. He and Jamie were so affectionate that some of Lance's younger cousins had started drawing pictures of the two of them with lots of extra hearts in the background. Curtis was getting his life back, despite having in a very literal sense having left most of it behind to take refuge here. He was recovering...which kind of begged the realization that living with Shiro had been really, really draining for him.

 _I can see why Shiro noticed him,_ whispered Allura's voice in his mind.

"Yeah," Lance murmured. Allura wasn't awake, not really. He could hear it in her voice. This was, for her, just a dream she was having. But it was still good to hear her voice, even if only he could hear it. It was one more little step toward the day she woke fully. And that was the day she could come back. At least, as far as Lance could guess, that was what could happen. Magic was kind of a headache to think about too much. "Everyone doing okay?"

A breeze swirled, very gently, around him as he watched Curtis and Jamie debate the merits of apple colors. Allura was closest to alert around _him_ , but she was dreaming the whole universe. He couldn't help pushing her, just a bit. He did _want_ her to come back, after all. _Keith's with his wolf. Hunk in his workshop. Pidge at a computer. Shiro is reading a book._

"So...probably, then," Lance hazarded. "I dunno how long Curtis is going to want to stay. I guess until everything else settles."

Allura didn't answer with words, just a sensation of a light kiss on his cheek. He'd definitely pushed her too much; she was slipping into deeper sleep. He couldn't help it; he missed her. He knew everyone else missed her, too, but for now he seemed to be the only one she could connect to. A Blue Lion thing...maybe.

Lance sighed, and went to see how the lovebirds were doing in a more direct, human kind of way. And tried not to envy them too much.

~*~

The doctors studied the recording. Not all of them had agreed with Pender that it was time for a 'calculated risk'. The information Keith had provided was valuable, certainly, but he _was_ listed as a stalker. There was little reason to think all of this wasn't some elaborate ploy to get closer to his target. Keith could take Shiro from the clinic, but in doing so would void his own authority over Shiro. This was, from a stalker point of view, almost an ideal situation - Shiro was under his control, unable to leave. The only snag was the presence of the doctors. So Keith clearly had motive to sway their views of him.

But Pender was the one who'd been dealing with Keith, and the failsafes were in place. Letting Keith have an 'unsupervised' visit - skipping over quite a few steps that would normally have been in between - was, bluntly, a test. The _doctors_ had access to the only surveillance that included sound; the video was recorded on devices that had no external access even indirectly. They were well aware that there were many outside the clinic who wanted to keep an eye on this particular patient. The security measures in place meant that even the cleaning of the servers were done by this team of doctors, but so far it was working.

And now they were reviewing the results.

"It would appear that he _is_ able to adhere to an agreement," mused Dr. Schlessigner, an older man. The occupation had left him wheelchair-bound, but his mind was very sharp.

"That sitting, that's deliberate," said Dr. Brice. She was younger, darker, and had made a study of cross-cultural power dynamics. "I would have expected him to stand. Unless this is an overt manipulation."

"Galra have a gift for deception," noted a third, Dr. Merisan. His legacy from the occupation was a face that bore a network of scars from sentry energy whips. Even the other doctors weren't certain how far the scars extended; Merisan tended toward long sleeves, high collars, and pants. "Keith _has_ the power here. He admits as much. Sitting or standing is irrelevant."

The fourth doctor just watched the video again; it wasn't as if their interaction had lasted long. "The personalities are definitely in disagreement," she said quietly. "But not opposed to the degree I would have expected. That remark about the wedding - I believe that is Shiro. The comments about the lion, those are Ryou. One is hurt but the other seems to be betrayed."

Dr. Pender focused on her. "I believe that in order to progress," he said slowly, "We are going to need to address the relationship here. Keith appears to be strongly associated with many events in Mr. Shirogane's life. To fully integrate the personalities we must understand what is keeping them separate. Do you agree?"

The fourth doctor, Dr. Yance, nodded - but reluctantly. "Pender," she said, her tone still soft and a bit concerned, "I think we need to keep close supervision when these two interact. Your 'calculated risk' paid off this time, but this interaction only barely seems to have avoided direct violence. Yes, Keith adhered to your terms and that is good to know. But Ryou seems to blame him for a great deal and we don't know how much of that is justified. Perhaps we should contact the other Paladins for confirmation, first."

"Agreed," said Dr. Pender. "We will hold off on a second interaction until we have that. For now, let's work with what we have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Monkey's Paw": a story in which a person is presented an enchanted, mummified monkey paw which grants three wishes. However, the wishes are granted by the easiest possible route - wishing for money, for example, leads to a nearby loved one's death who just happens to have the wisher as a beneficiary. Wishing someone dead back to life nets a zombie. Fate is not meant to be lightly tampered with.


	12. We Learned The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapy begins...the universe marches on. And James Griffin inadvertently learns what punching _himself_ looks like.

The doctors wanted time to look over the translations Keith provided of the binders, and to talk to Shiro about their meeting. In the meantime they'd set Keith two tasks - one, to translate more of the Champion binders, and two, find a Paladin willing to come speak with them about how Shiro perceived events.

Keith couldn't argue with them. Not really. He'd held together well enough during the meeting, but there was really no way Shiro's anger, disappointment, and accusations wouldn't have hurt. There was a time - and Keith still clearly _remembered_ that time - when the disapproval alone would have had him begging forgiveness, willing to do anything just for Shiro not to look at him like that. He'd grown past that, which was probably good for everyone, but one of the definitions of love was to be open to being hurt. And it had definitely hurt.

Krolia's solution, when she saw him, was to call for Kosmo and order - not suggest, _order_ Keith to go hunting. Out, and don't come back until he had meat enough for both of them, which was something of a tall request in the desert. But that was the point, really. He thought best, processed best, when in motion. The raw basics of survival came easily to him and always had. And now he had a much, much clearer idea of what he was capable of. Two dozen snakes and four roughly-chicken-sized wild birds later, he'd regained equilibrium of a sort.

The binders were easy. He could work on those in the evenings. Getting one of the other paladins to drop everything and come out here...well.

It wasn't that they didn't care. Keith knew they did. It was a question of cost. He had to be careful who he asked, because _all_ of them would drop everything to come to Shiro's aid, be _damned_ to the cost. And Keith had already seen where that led. It led to statues and honorary festivals. He wasn't going to make that mistake again, not ever. So he needed to think it out _first_. Who to call. What it would cost them and how he could mitigate it.

Munching idly on grilled bits of snake - tossing bits to Kosmo, which wasn't nearly enough to feed him but Kosmo could teleport to a nice dense forest and eat an elk later anyway - Keith realized there really wasn't a lot of choice. Hunk or Lance, because Pidge _couldn't_ be pulled from her current station without causing a lot more trouble than any of them needed. Lance had Curtis and Jamie, though. There was no telling if Lance could leave his little sanctuary without the magic he was using to deflect trouble fading. Hunk had a lot farther to come, but he'd do it. He could tell the doctors what they needed. It would only cost him some time, and at the very least he'd get an excuse to spend some time with his family into the bargain. And Shay, whose balmera remained in Earth's solar system.

~*~

Hunk was sorting data. More accurately, he was assembling data that Coran had gathered into a complex family...tumbleweed. At this point everyone in the Altean colony was related to everyone else. It was just a matter of degrees. Likely the whole lot of them would've died of inbreeding-related complications centuries ago if they weren't so very long-lived. It ...well, it put a bit of a crimp in Hunk's plan to surprise Coran with descendants. Not only was no one in the colony related to him, but he was quite literally the only _genuine_ genetic outlier in the entire lot of them. If Coran had been the type to happily assemble a harem or two and settle down that way, Hunk wouldn't have had anything to worry about. But Coran was steadfastly true where he was loyal, and...well. His eccentricities made him not the best means of introducing new genes to the local pool anyway.

Damn. It would have been _so. simple._ So elegant. It had been perfect, on paper. And it wasn't as if the database were useless - certainly the colonists could use it to spot bad matches before they were made. But it didn't speak volumes for the long term future of the Altean race. (Unless it did. Hunk was a whiz with machinery, but he wasn't actually at all certain about viable population levels and how genetic diversity factored into that.) He made a note to, next time he talked to Pidge, see if there were any budding xenobiologists willing to pop out here for a study or three. He'd heard rumors to the effect that Earth was having a bit of a Moment - an _isolationist_ moment, specifically - but all humanity knew they owed Alteans a Debt; that it was their technology that had saved Earth from the Empire. It probably didn't hurt that Alteans struck humans as adorably cute elves. Humans were always happier to save the cute ones.

That was why he'd taken steps, right up front, to protect the Balmerans. Hunk knew his Earth history well. Earth _needed_ balmera crystals. It couldn't make them on its own. Without crystals, Earth was trapped in its own solar system and a sitting duck for anyone that wasn't. It was normal, even standard operating procedure, for humans to try and make _absolutely certain_ their access to crystals wasn't compromised. And that they had as much control over the process as possible. Which was why Hunk had led the Earth leadership to believe that the only way, the _only_ way to get balmera crystals was if the leaders who wanted them came and _personally_ performed the rituals of quintessence exchange. Each time. 

That had slowed things _right_ down.

Shay initially wanted to know why the deception - because really, anyone could do the ritual, it didn't _have_ to be the leaders. Unless you had an Altea-type situation where those with the most quintessence ended up in charge, anyway. Hunk had gotten her to agree to make sure her people backed up his story, and explained that well...humans had a tendency to let those who sought power most, have it. Governments tended to need changing every so often because every system humans had ever come up with was ultimately exploitable in this regard. And one of the bigger signs that it was happening again would be leaders being willing to send the regular guys off to die while being absolutely certain their own families were safe. By stating up front that the balmera would _only_ accept the rituals of rulers in exchange for its crystals, Hunk was doing his best to make sure Earth only asked for what it really needed, and wasn't sending ...well, _sacrifices_ to try and exploit the Balmerans' generosity. He also told her that if ever Earth tried to back down from that - send a second in command, or anyone else - to take that as a sign it was time to fly off and let Earth clean house again.

Hunk did his best to be kind, and think the best of people. But he wasn't stupid, and he'd fight the whole universe to protect his own. Shay was definitely one of his own.

So he was relieved, really, when his console lit up, indicating someone wanted to Talk. Though he was surprised it was Keith. "Something's gotta be wrong," he decided. "What is it?"

"Nothing we didn't know would be wrong going in," said Keith, though he still looked a bit embarrassed at being pegged right off. "Shiro's not happy with me, or with any part of the situation. And he's been diverting the therapists. I've provided a lot of information, but apparently..." he took a deep breath, "I'm part of the _reason_ he's in there. And the Garrison's marked me as a stalker. I've made some progress convincing the doctors I'm not, but that still leaves the other stuff. They want to talk to a Paladin who isn't me, for a... more balanced perspective."

Hunk blinked at the screen a few times. "What is it they think I could tell 'em that you can't?" he asked. "Except for the times you weren't there, I mean - oh." He made a face. "Sure man. I can make time for this. How long do you figure it'll take?"

Keith could only shrug. "Shiro's told them as little as he could get away with. So figure ...however long it'd take you to cover everything from the day we rescued him on Earth up to the last time you talked to him, and then add in about two days to answer questions about it."

Hunk's jaw _dropped_. "You gotta be kidding me."

"Nope." Keith's expression didn't waver. After all, that's what he'd been doing. He was fairly sure the doctors would want to cross reference pretty much everything, since they didn't trust him much.

"You trust 'em with all that, when Shiro doesn't?" Hunk asked, just stunned now.

Keith shrugged slightly. "Okay, so, you tell me: has Shiro ever told you anything about any day of his life that you weren't there to see for yourself?"

"...Huh," mused Hunk. "Never thought about it. Gotta point. I thought he'd at least told _you_..."

Keith shook his head. "I was just there for longer, Hunk. That's all, really. And ...yeah. I've dealt with the doctors enough to believe they're really on Shiro's side and _want_ to help him. I'll be the first to shred them if it turns out I'm wrong, too, and I'm pretty sure they also know _that_. But Shiro's been blocking them. So they need whatever you can tell them." He paused, then - again showing signs of being embarrassed to have forgotten to say earlier - "Uh, how's the experiment going?"

"Badly," Hunk sighed. "They're all interrelated, and none of them are related to Coran, _or_ Alfor. We may as well just hand the crown to Romelle, she's at least got more experience dealing with other races."

"It'd give her some extra clout in the Alliance," shrugged Keith. "I don't think she'd mind. Make her a crown and go for it."

"I'll talk to her about it while I'm on Earth, I guess," said Hunk. "Speaking of. I've made a ship for myself, and I've made one for you. If Shiro ever actually _sees_ it, tell him I'll make him one like it if he wants. But probably don't tell him about it while he's, y'know, locked up."

Somewhat puzzled, Keith just nodded. "Um. Okay. When should I expect you?"

Hunk looked up, calculating. "Pidge'll be up in...six vargas, so probably about nine hours from now Earth timescale. I'd crash with you for dinner, but a) your idea of cooking is _primitive_ and b) I have a lot of people I've promised to spend time with next time I'm in the neighborhood. First morning after I land I'll drop on your house so you can show me where this clinic is. Do I need to dress for the occasion?"

"No," said Keith, more quietly now. "No, I think I can manage introductions."

~*~

Despite Ezor's gleeful taunting, Acxa did miss Keith.

Nothing with that boy - and she made herself use the word _boy_ , because in Galra terms he very much still was one and she didn't want to forget that - was _simple_. Acxa had spent most of a century trying to find an honorable commander. She might be a Blade now, but she was a Blade because Keith thought it was a good idea, not because she did. Acxa didn't like stealth as a tactic. One should face one's enemies openly and directly. That was not how the Blade of Marmora had survived. But things were changing, and Keith thought she was a good fit, and despite the fact that she _really_ didn't like espionage, she did like the work they did day to day. Exploring new worlds, the not-infrequent bouts with pirates and corporate mercenaries...she might wear a spy's uniform but Acxa's life was currently quite in the open. 

Unfortunately, so was her love life. Which Ezor found _adorable_. Zethrid at least understood why Acxa had been horrified to find out Keith was barely into his twenties. It was a relief he'd bonded to someone else, and even more of one that the 'someone else' was one of the short-lived humans. It ...marked him out of bounds, really. But it didn't mark him out of bounds _forever_. She'd have time to see if Keith grew into an honorable man. She'd have time to see how he treated his mate (even if it was borderline scandalous that he had a mate bond so young). She'd have time to be certain. After Lotor, Acxa really, really wanted to be _certain_. So she endured Ezor's teasing, and read books about the way humans thought about things, how they had viewed their world before it got pried open by Sendak.

Sometimes humans were very like galra. Sometimes they were so completely alien it defied description. The really strange part was how they quite often flipped from one state to the other without any warning at all. It was really no wonder Keith seemed to have no expectations of anyone he met. How could you possibly have expectations of beings so changeable?

Acxa was part Galra, but where Ezor was 'just galra enough' to operate gene-locked technology, Acxa was the opposite. One grandfather had taken up with a Teifen woman and...that was it. All the rest of her lineage was pure galra. It was enough to block her from any kind of rank in Zarkon's military, though. The little stubs of horns that her hair mostly hid anyway were enough to mark her impure. She thought of herself as galra, but she'd always been aware that to other galra she was at best a halfbreed. Lotor had offered her a chance to prove herself, and she'd tried. It was only later she realized that he couldn't free her from a misconception that bound him too. And later still to realize that he'd let it make him bitter. Let it fester into hate for the other that was always part of himself. You couldn't think of the galra as 'them'. You couldn't let yourself fall into that trap. It was always a trap that would eat you, too.

It was part of what she liked about Keith, really. He was entirely human in appearance. He had every reason to hate the empire, and every reason to hate the galra. He could have gone the way Lotor did - deny his galra blood, embrace his human heritage. He could have pretended to nearly everyone that he was wholly human, which was more than Lotor could have done. But he hadn't. From the first day she'd met him he'd been willing to believe that galra could be other than what he'd been led to expect. He'd never denied his heritage - either side of it. He had a way of just _being_ that Acxa rather thought she could learn from, if she could get the hang of it. Maybe go to Teifar someday and learn who her grandmother's people were. Acxa rather thought Keith might even want to come with her.

She would _not_ be taking Ezor with her on that trip, though. Ezor had learned a human singsong that was _deeply_ annoying, about trees and kissing, and Acxa spent a great deal of time pretending she couldn't hear it in the hope that one glorious day Ezor would give it the hell up and knock it off.

For this reason Ezor had to get in her face - and between her and her book - to get her attention. "ACXA. THAT PLANET IS INHABITED."

~*~

James Griffin did not know what to make of Pidge, but Garrison rumor suggested 'abject terror' was probably a good place to start.

Not because she was physically intimidating. She wasn't. She also didn't shout, or pull rank, or play pranks, or ...really most of the ways that Garrison officers and cadets used to be assholes at each other. No, 'Pidge' was in a class all her own. Pidge would know things about you that you'd never told anyone, ever. And she would use them as and when it offered her the most advantage. Rumor suggested she had dirt on the highest levels of Garrison authority, and that this was why no one ever told her 'no'. Go into any meeting with the Green Paladin assuming that making her angry will end your career, Griffin had been told. Play it safe.

Griffin didn't exactly know Pidge _well_. He hadn't known her as 'Katie Holt' at all, and hadn't had any classes with her as 'Pidge Gunderson'. He'd only met her as the Green Paladin. But he _had_ worked with her before the Lions left the world. They'd fought in battles together, some of which still gave him nightmares. _Maybe_ she'd become the Garrison's unholy terror queen. Griffin kind of suspected someone had been stupid enough to think the Lion made the Paladin and had found out they were very, very wrong the hard way. So when she summoned him to a private meeting, he wasn't _particularly_ inclined to go in ready to offer virgin sacrifices.

Pidge had requested a meeting in one of the Dome's private offices. She had a device on the meeting table that he suspected was making sure the meeting was private, too. She sat in one of the plush office-type swivel chairs and gestured to him to take a seat.

"What's this about?" he asked, but made sure to stay polite. Whether the rumors about her were true or not, she _was_ a friend of Keith's. And Keith he _did_ know.

"It looks like you and your squad are set to stay the MFE pilots for as long as you pass the physicals to fly them," said Pidge. "This is a courtesy meeting to tell you I'm grounding all the MFEs for the next six months. You're welcome to catch up on your paid leave, if the other planes don't suit your taste."

Griffin eyed the jammer on the table. "...There's no reason that couldn't have been recorded," he said carefully.

Pidge nodded. "That, no. This, yes. I'm incorporating the MFEs into the Voltron-2 project. They'll need to undergo some modifications. Kind of a lot of modifications. I wanted to let you know privately, because you're going to wind up in charge of the whole squad."

There was something about the way she said 'whole squad' that made him think she wasn't just talking about the other pilots. "...Which squad, exactly?"

Pidge held out some folders. "Take a look," she said. "The MFEs will form one third of the final construction. They'll _also_ form a smaller combat robot at need. We're aiming for versatility here. The MFEs will be Air Team. These," she turned over some pages to reveal photographs of low-hover terrain vehicles, and a tank, "are Ground Team. And _these_ ," more pages. Now he was looking at schematics for some very interesting submersibles, "will be Sea Team. Five men each. Each will have its captain, but you're going to be the final word for the set."

Griffin was suddenly really glad he was sitting down. No wonder she was making sure there was no record of the meeting. "Why me?"

"Well, you've survived a lot of direct combat with the kind of enemies we really hope don't still exist," said Pidge. "But it's always possible they do, which is why this project has been a priority. You've proven adaptable, and we need adaptable. You've apparently impressed some people with a lot of power. I'm letting you know in advance, so you can use the six months to find people you'd be able to work with. This won't be a Lion situation. The Garrison doesn't like the idea of machines being shotcallers. So you're going to be finding the people to run these vehicles. Quietly. We don't want word of it getting out before it's time."

And he'd thought getting tapped to lead the MFE cadets was an honor. This was...this was Black Lion level stuff. Which led to another thought. "...Did Keith have anything to say about this?"

Pidge, to Griffin's utter shock, looked surprised. "No. Why would he? He's left the Garrison. Left it years ago."

 _She didn't know_. She apparently had no idea that he and Keith had gone past rivals and into enemies, long before all this started. And that that fence had never been mended. He wasn't sure whether that indicated good things or not, but the main thing was _she didn't know_. There was something that Pidge didn't know. Not that he was inclined to ever bring it to her attention, just in case it turned out to matter. Paladins looked after their own - _that_ he knew for fact. So he quickly said, "Right. Of course. ...Really, two different combinations?"

"The idea here is to facilitate exploration," said Pidge. "Sky, land, sea. Taking readings and samples. Meeting the natives if there are any, marking the world open for colonization if not, tagging sites where useful resources can be found. That kind of thing. Don't feel you have to limit yourself to humans, by the way. And save a slot for Chip."

"Chip?" The conversation had gone from amazing to just bewildering.

"I've been experimenting with AI," said Pidge. "Alteans had a means to create fully functional AI. I'm seeing what it can do in an independent body. His name's Chip. That's _one_ slot down. Nine to go."

"Uh." Griffin decided now was not the time to argue. "Sure. This sounds like a big - how soon are the MFEs grounded?"

"They already are," said Pidge. "I don't wait around. Six months, Griffin. Try not to pick any empire builders, would you? It's kind of nice having other worlds look up to Earth. Hate to see them seeing us as the next Galra Empire."

The words were offhand, but Griffin got the message. If Pidge didn't like his choices, she _would_ be Unhappy. And while she didn't seem to be the terror goddess Garrison rumor implied, he still didn't want to find out what she could do. He got up, swore to get started, and booked it before it occurred to Pidge to ask again why he'd thought Keith would factor into the decision.

He needn't have bothered. The moment he was gone, Pidge did a little digging, a little cross referencing...and sighed. "Oh," she said to the empty room. So that was why Keith didn't like him. "Figures. Well, it's at least a good safety catch, if he's still worried about it."

~*~

For the past year and change, 'therapy' for Mr. Shirogane had been much the same as getting a wild animal used to one's presence. Dr. Merisan (for the most part; the others would sit in sometimes if he wanted a break) would knock politely, come in when offered, take a seat, and ask, "What would you like to talk about?"

Most days, Shiro wouldn't answer. Just go on with his exercises, or read whatever book he had, or watch the trees outside his window. Some days, he would talk about some very recent thing - a new vehicle in the clinic's parking lot, perhaps, or snow if it had happened to snow that day, or whatever weather was currently going on. While the doctor present would _try_ to steer the conversation toward what had brought him to check himself in, the only times they'd gotten answers were when it related to something that had happened that day. A visit from Curtis, or a letter, or a package from one of the Paladins. Even then, Shiro had proved a conversational master at sidestepping any need to answer in depth. Even now, when they knew quite a bit more, getting _Shiro_ to talk about any of it was the main stumbling block.

So Dr. Merisan was deeply surprised - though doctor enough not to show it much - when his formulaic, "What would you like to talk about?" got an immediate answer.

" _Why_ did you let him in here?" asked Shiro. The tone suggested he'd expected better. Or at least something else. But he wouldn't look at the doctor; his attention was focused on the pleasantly curated lawns outside, and the blue of the daytime sky.

"My colleague believed it a suitable reward for his efforts on your behalf," said Merisan, making clear he didn't agree with the decision. "And a suitable initial test of his intentions."

Shiro's expression shifted to something closer to aggravation, or possibly disgust. The doctors all knew the signs of Ryou now. "I don't want to see him again. Don't let him in here."

Merisan made a note on his tablet. "As you wish," he replied simply. "You know it is not our desire to cause you further distress. May I ask why, though?"

"Isn't it enough that I've asked?" asked Shiro sharply. 

The doctor paused. The answer to that was really _yes_ ; Keith wasn't a doctor, the team still had doubts about the healthiness of letting the two of them interact, and Shiro's unequivocal rejection would be respected. At the same time, Keith had neither said nor done anything that indicated a desire to control or harm Shiro, which suggested that Shiro's reasons for the demand might _also_ come from an unhealthy source. If Dr. Pender had one conclusion the rest of the team agreed with, it was that whatever it was between these two men, 'a mess' didn't even begin to cover it.

Dr. Merisan, unlike Keith, _did_ know Ryou. Ryou was, in many respects, a quintessential military officer; he expected to be obeyed, he expected to command, and he expected respect. He had neither time nor respect for those who didn't stand up for their beliefs. It was one reason Merisan was most often the doctor in this room; Ryou saw his scars and thought of Merisan as a fighter.

Ryou could be manipulated into revelations, if he were angry enough. So Merisan said, "It's because he put himself below you, isn't it." Which was a guess, but - he couldn't really picture Ryou respecting someone who submitted so easily.

"It's because it's a lie when he does," said Shiro shortly. "You can only give Keith orders he was going to follow anyway. But he _refuses_ to accept the responsibility of command."

Merisan made another note. "He obeyed our restrictions yesterday," he said mildly.

"And what were _those_?" asked Shiro sharply. 

"No violence," Dr. Merisan replied. "To leave immediately rather than offer or accept it. And to leave if you were to ask it."

Shiro's lip curled. "Yes. He would have no trouble obeying orders like that. He's had practice at leaving when things get rough."

At this point, Dr. Merisan was forced to concede that Dr. Pender had gauged the situation correctly. This was more productive conversation than anyone on the team had managed the entire time Shiro had been here. The _mess_ that lay between Shiro and Keith was apparently nothing if not provocative. To nudge things along, he said, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"That man," said Shiro, "is the best melee combatant you are ever going to meet. And the best pilot. Voltron needs five pilots, and the Lions won't take just anyone. The Black Lion is the most demanding, and it chose him. Maybe you think, because you saw him flying it in Earth's defense, that he accepted that role. He spent the first six months in denial, and the moment he'd found me he couldn't hand the Lion to me fast enough. He put an entire quadrant in danger, countless lives, just because he _insisted_ I couldn't lead unless I piloted Black as well. But instead of returning to the Red Lion - which is where he should have been if he wasn't going to accept command - he left the team altogether. The best fighter, and the best pilot," he snapped his fingers. "Because he couldn't take orders. Couldn't stay with his team."

Well. That was...certainly a perspective. Merisan made a few notes, certain the team was going to want to discuss this. "You told him you wanted to be the Black Paladin," he noted. "That it gave your life meaning. And that he took it from you."

Interesting, too, that there was a moment of inner conflict visible on Shiro's face. In a tight voice, he said, "That isn't the point."

Possibly because it was difficult for most people to hold such opposite views so strongly while thinking about both at the same time. Dr. Merisan made another note. "You performed great deeds as the captain of the IGF Atlas," he went on.

"The Atlas is an incredible ship," said Shiro, almost sighing. "But the Lions were intelligent, aware. Vocal, even. Only those they chose could even get anywhere near them. The Black Lion will only accept those with the capability to lead - and you've seen his potential. "I worked hard on my bond with that Lion. I fought Zarkon for that Lion, more than once. There was trust there, between us. Respect. Black and I were a team. The Atlas is a magnificent ship. But a ship is all it is, whatever shape it takes."

And back to Shiro, Dr. Merisan noted. Discussing the Black Lion had shifted the balance of personalities. Shiro spoke more quietly, thoughtfully. Still a leader, but more of a team captain than a general. He spoke of the Black Lion as he might a close friend. "If that is true," said the doctor carefully, "Then how could Keith take it from you?"

Shiro seemed to get...smaller, looking out the window. Older. "The Lions can reject their pilots, too," he said quietly. "I tried to kill Keith. He nearly killed me. That scar on his face, that was me. And I never so much as sensed the Black Lion again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's traditional to name fics and chapters after songs, right? Right. This one's a song title, by Dar Williams, and looking up the lyrics may explain why I chose it but probably won't make your day better. YMMV.


	13. The Mercy of the Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten the other paladins. I just needed to show where certain people are at, before I devote a bit more time to them.

Hunk came bearing gifts. And they were awesome, wonderful gifts.

He'd brought Keith a ship of his own. Small enough to fit within the cruiser he normally worked with Acxa and the others - it would fit easily in a standard fighter bay - but large enough for him to fly with all the other paladins and supplies for a week. And it was, Keith readily admitted, gorgeous enough to inspire envy. Hunk had used, for the most part, a color scheme that evoked both the Black Lion and the Red - which was to say, the ship had a dark purple finish that looked black in any kind of shadow, with streaks of crimson that could be wings, tails, curls of flame. The ship _looked_ fast. It looked like the speed of light was for grannies on Sunday. And while it had extendable gunports - because Hunk knew his customer, and there was no way Keith was going to be flying around the universe without winding up in a fight with _somebody_ \- the ship's wings (for atmospheric flight) were structured such that the ship itself could be used the way the Lion jawblades once had. Hunk patted the hull proudly. " _This_ ship would get stuck in Red's teeth," he said. "Do I do good work or what?"

"I can think of four cities, right now, where if I walk ten feet away from this ship every kid under twenty's going to try and steal it," said Keith, but the tone said _thank you, this is awesome_.

"They can try," said Hunk with cheerful malice. "Honestly, I've refined my security systems so _Olkari_ punks couldn't steal this ship. Street rats can try. Anyway. This one's yours. Try not to take on a whole fleet with it though, it doen't have the ammo stocks for that." He gave Krolia a respectful nod, and rubbed his hands together. "So. Today we're taking my ship, and you're showing me where this clinic is. I made something for Shiro too." He paused. "Uh. I'll get to give it to him, won't I?"

Keith could only shrug. "I have no idea. They've let him have books, but books usually don't have sharp edges and it takes a big one to do real damage. Go ahead and ask, when we get there."

Krolia nodded to the ship approvingly, though it meant the isolated house had _four_ ships parked around it now - her own, Keith's, Hunk's, and the converted galra fighter that had caused the concerns. "Thank you for your hard work," she said to Hunk. "Let me know when I can repay the favor." To Keith she said, "I suppose you'll be taking yourself to the clinic now. I will be returning here at the conclusion of Coalition business, though."

"Thanks," said Keith. He didn't feel right asking anyone to keep him company, but company of any kind had been turning out to be very helpful.

Hunk clapped him on the shoulder. "Well. I got family that wants me home for dinner, and breakfast with Shay in the morning. I'll swing by here to pick you up after that and we'll go get introductions and all that? Should I make notes?"

"Yeah, actually," Keith agreed. "Anything you can remember that you think might help them understand where Shiro's coming from, write it down or make a video so you don't forget to tell them."

"No problem," Hunk agreed, and got into his...it really was a space jeep wasn't it. But it flew smooth as milk, barely rustling the short desert grasses on the lawn.

"Shay is a Balmeran, yes?" asked Krolia thoughtfully. "They stay with their balmera."

"Yes," said Keith. "And yes, Shay's balmera's been orbiting at asteroid belt distance so as not to screw with our solar system's gravity too much. If he says he'll be here after breakfast, I'm more worried about the size of his breakfast than the distance of the trip."

"Hn," mused Krolia, nodding absently. "He's spoken before the coalition representatives before. Quite a presence. It doesn't hurt that he's the only petitioner who serves lunch while he presents his case."

Keith slanted a Look at her. "...He bribes you with lunch?"

Krolia found the idea amusing. "I think it's wiser to say that there is a man who knows how and when to oil squeaky wheels."

~*~

The Atlas didn't really have a lot to do. It turned up for parades (kind of. Given the size of the ship, mostly 'appearing for parades' involved descending into atmosphere over the right part of the planet and then releasing a gods-bless-the-trash-haulers-who-are-about-to-receive-massive-overtime amount of balloons) and did the odd formation drill, or patrol around the solar system, and that was...it. The Garrison wanted to hold off on any major exploration missions until it found a pilot that could do the transformation trick. So until then, it was a beautiful showpiece and the primary defender of Earth's solar system.

Veronica didn't _mind_ this. Much. After the 'excitement' of the occupation and a lot of fighting for her life, and her family's lives, she had a realistic view of excitement as something one should wish for only very, very carefully and possibly with a lawyer present. The only problem was that a lack of excitement gave her plenty of time to worry about her brother Lance, and the changes that meant the boy so eager to go out and see _everything_ now stayed on the same plot of land month after month. He _seemed_ happy, sure, but ...it wasn't right. It just wasn't Lance.

She was very surprised, therefore, that her comm light lit up. She wasn't the comm officer, so this was a call directly to her. And after much patient work, her parents knew better than to pull this trick anymore. She flipped the switch.

Acxa's concerned face filled the screen. "Hello, Veronica," she said.

It had to be serious. Acxa would never make a private call like this if something weren't exploding somewhere. Veronica straightened right up. "Hello, Acxa," she repeated, remembering Acxa's tendency to be a stickler for courtesy. "What do you need?"

"Advice," said Acxa. "My ship has discovered an inhabited world in the uncharted regions. To scans it appears _un_ inhabited, and we believe that is a deliberate attempt to avoid detection. That suggests advanced technology; we'd pick up anything else. We are maintaining position above their solar plane, using the primary star to remain concealed from what we believe to be the main inhabited planet."

"Why would you do that?" blinked Veronica. "Just send someone down to - oh."

Acxa nodded to the unspoken realization. "This is a converted Galra cruiser and we are a galra crew. It is highly likely that this world's people are here and hiding because they fled the Empire. We have no wish to cause them ...undue concern. If I forward you our location and scan results, can you see to it the Coalition sends a welcoming party that would in fact be welcomed?"

Veronica blinked. "...Why didn't you send this to Pidge?"

Acxa's expression shifted juuuust a smidge. It was just a smidge into 'don't be tiresome' territory. "The Green Paladin does not oversee diplomatic relations. The IGF Atlas is the flagship of the Coalition fleet." Which translated to, _when they figure out what to do they're going to send the Atlas anyway, so I'm telling you first so you'll be ready and you can forward this to whoever will take the actions_ you _would prefer done._

Veronica straightened up. She liked Acxa, insofar as Acxa seemed willing to be liked by anyone, but talk about uptight. "Oh. Right. Sure. Yeah, send it to me and I'll see it gets handled right."

"Do not take too long," said Acxa, even as data began streaming to Veronica's station. "We have already had one altercation with would-be claimants. A few more quintants and this may reach official channels as 'rogue galra vessel attempts to claim planet'."

"Gotcha," said Veronica. "Data received."

~*~

Hunk's gift for Shiro, it turned out, was a tiny little model of a personal ship of his own design. This one was less like a jawblade, and more reminiscent of Black's crystal wings. A dark space angel of a ship, intended to go long, long distances without needing anything. The real thing, if Shiro liked the design, would be waiting for him when he was ready. That the ship would be able to interlock with Keith's was something Keith could tell by looking at it, but didn't intend to tell Shiro about. The last thing that would be a good idea right now would be Shiro thinking of Hunk as a matchmaker.

The doctors took them to separate rooms. Hunk was led off by Dr. Schlessinger, and Hunk was already eyeballing the man's wheelchair with an overtly speculative expression.

Keith, of course, got taken back to Dr. Pender's office. As they sat down in what almost felt like a starting ritual now, Pender said, "Thank you for bringing him. I am sure he has made sacrifices to come all this way."

"It's Shiro," said Keith. "If he asked, any of us would help however we can. I just asked on his behalf."

Dr. Pender nodded. "We have spoken with Mr. Shirogane," he said. "And he does not at this time wish to see you again." He let that sink in, and 'sink' was the right word. Keith seemed to deflate. "However. My colleagues and I do wish to understand the paladin interrelationships better. Mr. Shirogane has many strong feelings that need to be addressed, but some of his beliefs are patently mutually exclusive. This suggests that he is transferring. So, before we begin in earnest, I do have some questions for you."

Keith blinked at the little doctor. Shiro had made it clear Keith wasn't wanted, but the _doctors_ wanted him to stay? After all the stalker accusations? "...Of course," he said, bewildered. "Just ask."

Dr. Pender nodded, taking out a tablet. "Has Mr. Shirogane ever tried to kill you?"

Keith opened his mouth to say 'no', which was very much how he'd come to see it, but stopped himself. "Could you be more specific?" he tried instead.

The doctor seemed startled. "How could I be more specific?" he asked. "I had thought it a yes or no question."

"But it's not," said Keith, running a hand through his hair. "It's yes _and_ no."

"Mmmmm," said the doctor. "May I record this?"

Keith blinked. "Uh. Sure." 

So he waited, while the doctor set a little camera on his desk, and pointed it at Keith, and turned it on. "Now. Tell me how the answer to 'did Mr. Shirogane ever try to kill you' is both yes _and_ no."

"You know that Shiro...died," said Keith. "And I went looking for him, or at least his body, and I found - Ryou. But we didn't know, at the time, that Ryou wasn't Shiro. _He_ didn't know. Ryou was a clone, made by Haggar. And when we found out what her son, Lotor, had been doing to Altean colonists, the paladins rejected the alliance with Lotor. Haggar ...took control of Ryou at that point. She made Ryou take Lotor to her. She _made_ Ryou try to kill me." He brushed fingertips over the scar on his face. "This...was from his energy blade. Just the heat off it. He didn't have control - not of himself, not of his arm. She was using that arm to keep control. Killing him by pulling his quintessence into the arm to use to attack me. I won by cutting that arm off. I could see it, it was him again after that. But we'd pretty much destroyed the asteroid we were fighting in. Black rescued us, or we'd have both died."

"Do you believe Mr. Shirogane recalls these events?" asked Dr. Pender.

Keith winced. "I...don't think so. I hope not. She made him say things, do things, he'd never do. Made him hateful. The fight nearly killed us both even before the asteroid started coming apart."

The doctor made some notes on his tablet, behind the camera. "What do you think his reaction would be, if he did remember?" he asked. "We do need to establish whether this is a matter we should address."

"I think he'd be...ashamed," said Keith slowly. "Maybe guilty? He'd _never_ act like that on his own. I'm sure of it. But ...he..." Keith stopped, took a few breaths. "You have to understand. His whole life's been about not letting anyone else control his life, not for any reason. I'd like to think he could...just accept that it wasn't his fault. That he was being controlled. Haggar was _incredibly_ powerful. But if he remembers all the stuff he said, did...I'm afraid he might think of it as some kind of choice, or that he had a choice and chose badly, or something."

"Thank you," said the doctor, and turned the camera off again. "That is very helpful. Now. I am going to play for you a recording of our last session with Mr. Shirogane. That is not our normal procedure, but in this case..." Dr. Pender sighed. "It would appear that being the only humans in space, and the pilots of the lions, has caused some very _deep_ attachments. We cannot help Mr. Shirogane without understanding his place among the lot of you, both how he saw it and how you all saw it. It is clear he has evolved some contradictory perceptions. We need to understand the reasoning behind those perceptions - what he is, in his own mind, accomplishing by doing this. So. I will play this for you, and as we proceed please tell me when to pause, if you have your own input into events he describes. It will not be flattering. Please refrain from trying to defend yourself. We are not interested in punishing you, or anyone. Only in understanding Mr. Shirogane's perceptions of the matters he speaks of. Are you ready?"

Keith took a deep breath and nodded. He already knew Shiro didn't think much of him. "Yeah. Let's get started."

~*~

Dr. Schlessigner tolerated about ten minutes of speculation on how to improve his wheelchair before he calld Hunk to task. After that followed a full day of question-and-answer, and Hunk had sat through Garrison interrogations (thank you Lance) that were less intense. It wasn't that Schlessinger was cruel, or cold, or even angry. But he was very, very sharp of mind and sharper of tongue, and if you said something and then later said something even _slightly_ different, it was ten minutes of backtracking and clarification. They covered everything, as Keith had warned him they would likely do. Everything from the day they'd rescued Shiro from the Garrison right up to the last time Hunk had seen him at the wedding. And then further, into his conversations with Keith about events since then. A great deal of it was recorded, because Hunk couldn't stay on Earth too long and the other doctors would want to study it. And Hunk wasn't particularly concerned about privacy, because as he told the doctor, "Keith says you want to help Shiro. Really help. So - whatever you need to do, you do that."

And then they got to the video of Shiro talking about Keith to Dr. Merisan and Hunk's jaw just dropped. They wound up going through the whole video several times, because Hunk teared up and forgot to pause it more than once. Dr. Schlessinger, very much thrown by this, just passed Hunk the boxes of tissues as they seemed needed and kept up with his questions.

At the end of it all, Hunk asked, "Can I see him? Before I go? I made a little present..." he looked down, miserable. "Man. I ...never would've believed he's changed so much." He took out the little model. "It's just a model right now. I don't even know if he'd want it anymore. But I'd like to talk to him if it's okay."

Schlessinger took the model. "...Today, let him see it," he decided. "We will encase it in safety gel so that he can keep it safely, after today. Do you object to the meeting being recorded?"

Hunk shook his head. "Whatever helps you guys help him. I'm good with machines, but ...I can't fix people. You do what you gotta do."

The doctor nodded. "Then we will attempt it. If violence appears likely, for whatever reason, you are to leave. If he _requests_ that you leave, you leave. Is that understood?"

"Understood," sighed Hunk, getting up. "Let's go."

Schlessinger led the way, and Hunk followed. Outside the right room, the doctor showed Hunk the screen that let him observe directly. "You may go in."

Hunk noted the screen, nodded, knocked tentatively before opening the door a bit. "Shiro?" he asked. "It's me. Hunk. S'okay if I come in?"

Shiro immediately got up, smiling. "Hunk, of course. What brings you back to Earth? Are you and Shay doing all right?"

Relieved, Hunk came in to bearhug Shiro in turn. "Yeah, we're good. We keep in touch. But you, man, what are they feeding you? This weight loss thing is not your style."

"The usual hospital food, Hunk," said Shiro. "How's the cooking empire? I don't know if the doctors here are ready for intergalactic fusion."

Hunk waved it off. "One meal at a time," he said. "But I will absolutely send this place a chef and an open supply line if it'll help you. I thought Earth still had good cooks."

Shiro looked nonplussed. "Um. Thank you. I think. That's...very kind."

Hunk smiled. "I'll make sure one of my best students is right here then," he said. "I...uh. Made a present for you." The smile faded a bit. "I heard you're going through a lot. I can make something else if you'd rather. But, um." He brought out the little model ship, holding it out. "If you like it, the full size version will be waiting for you when you're ready to leave here."

Shiro took the little model carefully, looking it over. "It's beautiful, Hunk. And the wings -"

"They're a frame for solar sails," said Hunk. "I mean also Black Lion but they're not just decoration. Even on empty, this ship can still sail. No drifting. I mean, unless you'd want that." He demonstrated how the wings could extend, or fold in on the ship's hull. "The front claws can be used to collect gasses. It's slow, but the ship can make its own fuel if it has to. There's a backup fusion drive."

"Thank you, Hunk," said Shiro gently. "It's a beautiful ship. But I have to stay here for now."

"I know," said Hunk solemnly. "I just...thought you might want something to look forward to." He seemed to think that there was an unspoken _you should go now_ hanging in the air. "Is...there anything I should send you?? he asked. "I know Lance's been sending books..."

"The chef should really cover it," said Shiro dryly. "Thank you, Hunk. It's good to see you're doing so well."

"I wish you were," Hunk replied sadly. "You'll get through this. I know you will. Take care, okay?"

"I will," Shiro promised.

Hunk stood there awkwardly for a few moments...and then let himself out.

Dr. Schlessigner gestured Hunk over to the screen. Hunk obeyed.

They both watched Shiro almost visibly deflate. The model was tucked into a drawer of the dresser, out of sight. Shiro landed on the chair in more of a controlled fall than a sit, exhausted.

Hunk went from relieved to hurt to crushed in seconds. "...He faked it," he said softly. "He faked...everything. Why did he do that? He didn't have to do that."

Dr. Schlessigner released the button, returning the window to a wall, and started rolling his chair down the hallway. "We will need to speak to the other Paladins to determine the nature of this behavior," he said. "When they have time."

Hunk's jaw set. "No," he said, firm now. "Shiro needs _help_. And you guys need info. I know they're busy too, but I have an answer for that. You take me to wherever you guys meet. I'm gonna see about making sure you can reach _any_ of us. Any time. Just you keep it out of Garrison hands. And I'll see to it you get a chef too, and a supply line. That man is seriously underweight and _no_ one turns down _my_ cooking."

They came across Keith just as he was leaving Dr. Pender's office. Keith looked like he'd been through some of the darker parts of Hell, but he straightened up when he saw Hunk. He was in no way prepared for Hunk to barrel into him and bearhug him hard enough that he started losing feeling in his fingers. "Urk?"

"We're gonna fix this," said Hunk firmly. "Whatever you need, you got it."

"Mrf?" was all Keith could manage. Something about having the lungs constricted.

Hunk gave him a few thumps on the back for good measure. "I got dinner with my folks tonight," he said. "And I'm gonna ask 'em if any would stay with you and your mom for a bit. I mean neither of you can cook. Like, at all. This is some serious shit you're fielding and there is dire, I mean _dire_ need for comfort food going on around here. You've got spare rooms right?"

Keith resorted to poking fingers into Hunk's side. Oxygen, damnit. Oxygen good! Which finally got Hunk to let him go. Once Keith caught his breath again, he coughed, "Sure. We can do that, I think. Mom's kind of been enjoying the family time, though."

"One of my younger nieces or nephews then," Hunk decided. "Someone to give you tips and go explore the area the rest of the time. Half my family's never been off the island except to get stuck in work camps." He half led, half hauled Keith the rest of the way out of the building.

Dr. Schlessinger looked into the open office at Dr. Pender. "We have much to discuss."

"Yes," said Dr. Pender. "We do."

~*~

The doctors convened to discuss their results. The videos were played - Keith and Hunk's reactions to the session with Shiro, Hunk's account of his time as Yellow Paladin, and finally Hunk's meeting with Shiro. This took a few days, as it was a lot of footage and there were many pauses for discussion. As well as normal human things like food and rest.

Shiro's accusations against Keith took some time to go over. "He doesn't deny them," said Dr. Brice. "Keith accepts all of the accusations as valid."

"Hunk does not," noted Dr. Merisan. "At least not entirely. There is no subterfuge in him that I could see; the man deals with machines, which either function or do not. I would say he believes Mr. Shirogane is twisting events, but loyalty prevents him from taking sides."

"Agreed," said Dr. Schlessinger. "The Yellow Paladin is all but obsessed with machines as a means of improving quality of life. Apparently I am to expect an improved chair in the near future, and he will be providing us with a secure means of interviewing any of the Paladins as needed."

Dr. Pender seemed amused at that. "It certainly can't hurt," he agreed. "It would also seem that Mr. Shirogane has misled us as to the reasons for the paladins' distance."

"Also agreed," said Schlessinger. "It was impulse, to let Hunk view the aftermath of his visit. He was genuinely surprised and hurt, I believe, to realize that Mr. Shirogane presented a facade."

"But to what end?" asked Dr. Brice. "Mr. Shirogane is no longer the leader of this group, and they are not children. Even the Green Paladin is an adult now. They have all gone on to lead successful lives. There was no reason to present a facade."

Dr. Merisan frowned. "I believe it may be habit, to some extent," he ventured. "He was their center at a time when they were all young and vulnerable and in an impossible situation. We have gone over the arena time; it seems clear to me that a major focus of Mr. Shirogane's efforts was making certain none of them went through such an ordeal. That they would have each other, and also him. However, I think this is also a facet of Ryou; a general does not show weakness to his men, lest their resolve falter. _They_ rely on _him_."

Dr. Brice sighed. "That scans," she agreed. "He can't see them as anything other than the children they were. He protects them now, as he protected them then."

Dr. Pender shook his head. "Keith remains unique," he said. "The interaction was different. The expectations were different." He looked at the others. "I think we can see why they chose Keith to be his advocate here. They are also aware of the difference, although they may not be certain of its depth."

Dr. Schlessinger said, "If that is the case, then pulling the other Paladins into a direct confrontation with Mr. Shirogane would net no better results than the meeting with Hunk did."

"Agreed," said Dr. Pender. "The information they can provide is valuable to us, and to that end I think we should accept the Yellow Paladin's offer of communications. But there seems little point in having them deal directly with Mr. Shirogane at this time. It would only force him to assume an energy-sapping facade, and take them from their work."

Dr. Brice, watching the video of Keith responding to Shiro's session, said again, "He doesn't deny any of it. Hunk's responses suggest Mr. Shirogane is at the very least twisting the facts. If we are to continue to use Keith to reach Mr. Shirogane, this...tendency toward sacrifice must be addressed as well. He would otherwise be worn down by the continual accusations. We must have a clearer idea of what exactly went on." She looked around the table. "Dr. Pender. You appear to have established a rapport."

"If you mean he accepts that we are here for Mr. Shirogane's health, and not the benefit of the Garrison, then yes," said Dr. Pender dryly. "He answers my questions because we have established that I ask him nothing that does not relate back to Mr. Shirogane's treatment. If you are suggesting he have a therapist of his own, I would not disagree with your assessment - but it should not be me. It would be disastrous for our work were he to decide that I am attempting to affect him."

"It would, therefore, have to be _you_ , Dr. Brice," drawled Schlessinger. "Merisan and I have lost too much to the galra to be impartial. Pender's role in this needs to be preserved."

Brice sighed, as one does when caught. "Oh, very well. I do admit he is an interesting case. When you've done with your questions for him, Pender, send him to me."

"One last note," said Dr. Pender. "Keith claims that the fight he and Mr. Shirogane had was due to mind control. Your thoughts?"

Brice said, "I believe him to be correct. We have reports of Haggar's powers from many in the former Empire. What he claims is not at all beyond her ability."

Schlessinger said, "If so, Mr. Shirogane is not one to take victimhood lightly."

Dr. Merisan said, "Or at all. It will bear further examination, but yes. It is not out of the question that Mr. Shirogane is taking responsibility for something beyond his control. It certainly fits his profile. For now we should set that event aside to treat separately. I would put it to you all that if true, we must then re-examine all our conclusions regarding Ryou. As a creation of Haggar to begin with, he may well represent a twisting of Mr. Shirogane's actual self."

The other doctors thought that over for a few minutes. Then, tentatively, Dr. Brice said, "We've been treating Ryou as a separate persona, with a goal of integration. But if Ryou represents psychological damage, _in and of himself_ , and a result of an attempt at external control, how does that change how we treat him?"

Merisan, with care, said, "It does not change our goal. It changes how we consider what Ryou has to say. I believe we should consider looking over our notes with regard to his comments, and view them as possibly being responses to that control."

Brice, who had the most experience in studying power dynamics, visibly winced. "Merisan, Mr. Shirogane cannot abide external control, even when its nature and intent are benign. He would deny it, resist it." She appeared to hear what her own mouth was saying. "Which...would explain the vast majority of the discrepancies in his accounts, in fact." She sighed. "I'll have an assessment ready for you all in a few days."

Dr. Schlessinger chuckled an amused, evil chuckle - the sound employed by coworkers everywhere when they've just seen someone sign on for a hellishly difficult assignment before their brain catches up with their mouth. "I look forward to reading it."

~*~

Hunk didn't take off immediately to spend the evening with his family. First he dropped Keith off, and then turned the remnants of food they had on hand into something worth savoring, tutting all the while over the lack of variety or content. Once he was satisfied that Krolia and Keith would eat well, _then_ he took off to see his family.

Krolia quite enjoyed hers; Keith barely tasted it. Finishing the meal he went to the living room, which aside from the large television was one of a few rooms Kosmo could teleport into without smashing anything. The wolf appeared as if by command, and Keith settled down by him to start on an evening of giant-wolf-grooming. 

Krolia let him get settled before she asked, "What changed?"

"They played one of Shiro's sessions for me," said Keith quietly. "...I've really disappointed him."

Krolia blinked. "I feel that I should probably remind you that you did manage to save all known existence," she said. "Expecting something beyond that seems excessive."

Keith shook his head, brushing steadily along Kosmo's thick coat (and getting the occasional affectionate lick). "Not that. Just...he really thought I could just...pick up where he left off."

"Ah," said Krolia, turning her chair around so as to rest her arms on the back of it. "You've heard that from him before, though. Does it still bother you?"

"Do you really think I should have taken the crown of Daibazaal?" Keith asked in reply.

"No," said Krolia at once. "You were right. The Galra have looked to a single authoritarian voice for too long. It's time we discovered how to be 'many' again. How to be different from and yet not enemies. And you're still very young, with a lot to learn and a lot to see. It's by no means your time to settle into statesmanship. Which, for the record, is terribly dull."

Without pausing in his brushing (which was now netting a tidy pile of black and blue fur) Keith gave his mother a little smile. "You didn't have to run for office. Kolivan's done a lot of this kind of work."

"And I will return to the field in time," Krolia agreed. "For now, it made sense for me to help Kolivan. I _am_ the only galra with much experience of humans. In general. Besides having met you."

There was no possible way for any canid to look dignified while sprawled on its back, and Kosmo didn't even try while Keith brushed his belly fur. "Thanks," said Keith. "And...yeah, it's nothing he hasn't said to me before. How's the rest of the universe doing?"

"Oh, your crew is stirring up excitement in your absence," Krolia smiled. "They discovered an inhabited world. Whose people are able to hide themselves from cruiser scans. Rather than scare them by thinking the Empire's coming to invade, they sent word to the Coalition that a first contact team should be assembled. My day was full of arguments for and against specific responses."

Keith blinked. "Real first contact? Nothing on any chart?"

"Nothing on any chart," Krolia agreed. "But being able to hide from Galra scans does suggest they know, or at least knew, of the empire. Since we're quite far from the last border thereof, I'd guess they're a refugee colony. Acxa thought the same."

Keith thought about it. "Send Coran," he said. "There's no one on any world who'd think Coran is a threat."

"Romelle believes the same," said Krolia. "Which only tells me she did not view his singing of the Altean alphabe the same way you or I did."

"She _is_ Altean," Keith replied. "I'd go myself, but..." he shook his head. "I think I really need to be here. The past isn't done with Shiro, so it doesn't seem to be done with me either."

Changing the topic, Krolia asked, "What do you intend to do with all that fur he's shedding?"

Keith eyed the increasingly respectable pile. "...I'd say 'make a coat' but I don't know anyone living on a cold enough planet. The rebel listening posts are all unmanned relay stations now."

"Hm," mused Krolia. "Bag it up but keep it, would you? I don't know what species Kosmo is, exactly, but that just makes his fur more valuable as a trade commodity. You can never tell when things like that will come in handy."

"I was just trying to keep it off the couch," said Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Dar Williams song. 
> 
> I just wanted to note that I am adoring all your many comments, and have more than once had to sit on my hands and remind myself that the answers _will be_ in future chapters. But oh boy do I get tempted to point some of you at some of the other commenters, because y'all are very keen and clever and it's been a constant delight seeing how you react to my chapters. *mwah* You're all wonderful, you really are, and I'll see about lightening some of the heavier stuff before y'all get crushed. _There will be light at the end of this tunnel_. Promise.


	14. Breaking the Stranglehold of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some forward progress, and a bit of Zen.

The clinic called and told Keith not to come by for a few days; they had a lot to go over and some decisions to make, apparently. Hunk was 'on call'; in and around their decision making was apparently a strong desire to ask him questions while they could, which included while he was installing the secure console that would let them talk with Lance and Pidge.

Keith took the time for ...well, if it had been anyone else, it would have been 'me' time. And maybe that was still the best way to think of it. He took his knife (his _own_ , now; he was a full Blade in his own right, not just a legacy, but he'd gotten so used to how his mother's blade handled that his own had a very similar design) and Kosmo, and a flask for water, and headed out into the desert for a while.

Kosmo's presence made all the difference, really. The last time he'd done this it was because he was lost - Shiro was declared dead, the Garrison had expelled him, no prospects and no real desire for any. The desert had been a way to disappear. And he had; he'd lost all sense of himself or of time beyond day and night, dusk and dawn. It was in that state, a sort of walking nonbeing, that he'd first sensed what had turned out to be the Blue Lion, and the remains of the home he'd lost long enough ago to barely remember it.

This time it wasn't to disappear. He had family, now. Friends, connections, duties. A whole head full of problems, his own and everyone else's, and if he was going to have time to himself he wanted to pare that down a bit before diving back in. His mother had enough to occupy her with the new people that Acxa had found, so he didn't feel guilty about not coming home for a few days. And really, when you traveled with a bear-sized cosmic wolf, distances smaller than 'interplanetary' were kind of meaningless anyway. They went where Kosmo felt like going, Keith getting the hang of riding on the wolf's back as they went. Properly Kosmo-sized game was roughly moose range, but he seemed willing to make do. And Keith got to see more of the wild places of Earth than he'd ever gotten a chance to before.

They'd call, when they were ready. The phone was kept in a little belt pouch with a snap close, and he kept it charged with a small solar cell.

~*~

Hunk got mobbed by his family when he arrived at their door, and with several siblings, cousins, neices and nephews camping out on him, was made to go through everywhere he'd been, what he'd built, new recipes that were worth sharing, all the while several of his older relatives cooked a proper feast. As he was well and truly pinned down by the younger generation, the elders took turns keeping his glass full while he regaled them with stories of distant worlds.

Some of the stories, it turned out, they already knew. One of Hunk's first attempts at a reliable personal spacecraft had been given to Shay. Not because he thought she'd really _leave_ her balmera in any kind of permanent sense, but because alone of her people she had a genuine sense of wonder and curiosity, and Hunk thought it would be great idea to let her indulge that. They were pretty smart people, the balmerans, and they had a _ton_ of scrap and parts (and an entire hangar of galra fighters) that they were able to learn to rework into ships for themselves. Mostly they seemed content at the moment to just visit Earth now and then, but Shay wanted more.

And one of the places she stopped at, it turned out, was the house of Hunk's family. (Well. Houses. Most of a block if one were being strictly honest.) While Hunk hadn't officially 'brought her home', so to speak, he was relieved to hear that the family approved of Shay, and if Hunk wanted to join Lance in the interspecies romance department, his family would support his choice. It was really just a matter of getting schedules to align.

The doctors didn't exactly leave him alone, though. More than once, he had to pry gleeful nephews off his legs to take a private call to a private locale. He wished he had better answers for them, but he didn't really _know_ what had happened after Shiro grabbed Lotor and took off. Neither Keith nor Shiro had ever really wanted to say anything about it; Keith had only said the Shiro he followed was a clone. He _did_ have quite a lot to tell the doctors about how the cybernetic arm had functioned and could potentially have functioned had Haggar wanted to use it in a particular manner. He'd always figured Haggar had tried at least some of the options, since when Keith brought an unconscious Shiro back to the team, said Shiro was lacking the cybernetic arm and Keith wouldn't _do_ that if he didn't really really have to. At the very least, if it were safe, he'd have brought the arm back _too_ , for Hunk and Pidge to fix and reattach later.

~*~

The doctors gathered with coffee and doughnuts this time; it would be a long session, and they knew it.

"I am told that tomorrow this room will be 'made secure'," said Dr. Schlessinger. "And then the Yellow Paladin will be installing a console. Which we are under instruction not to let any of the other doctors or staff near. It will be for our use alone."

Dr. Pender said, "They are all wary of the Garrison, it seems. I suspect the full set of reasons are classified, but it seems justified enough in Mr. Shirogane's case. Being declared dead did him no favors."

Dr. Brice, looking rather like she intended to go right to bed once her workday was done, passed out a set of folders. "My assessment of Ryou given the information we have been recently provided."

The other three doctors paused their conversation; the folders were opened, doughnuts snacked on, coffee drunk. There was a lot to go over; Brice had applied the new information to every session they had on record, and every observation made.

"Should we ever be permitted to publish," observed Dr. Pender, "you have the makings of several awards here. Your work is impeccable."

Dr. Brice gave him the tired, irritated look of a woman who knew damn well there was not a chance Shiro would ever give permission to publish. Not during his lifetime, anyway. But what she said was, "Thank you."

Dr. Merisan said, "This suggests we need significant changes in approach. We have, up to now, simply hoped to wear him down - that in time, he would be more willing to speak."

"That is definitely not a tactic that will work in this case," said Brice, snagging a doughnut like she was calculating its sugar content. "That man would, and has, died before breaking. It must be presented as a necessary step toward getting something he wants."

That silenced all four - there wasn't a great deal Shiro _wanted_ , anymore, and of that small set, less they could realistically offer him.

Schlessinger said, "...We could present it as a requirement for keeping Keith out of the room."

Brice, halfway through a bite of pastry, coughed. Clearing her mouth with a few swallows of coffee, she said, "You will need to be very careful, since it's only by introducing Keith into the equation that we've gotten as far as we have. It's too valuable an option to simply discard. And he is a tactician. What he _wants_ is to be left alone with his secrets. But that is not something it would be wise to give him." She didn't need to add _and we already tried that_. 

Merisan turned over page after page, studying Brice's comments. "The galra had no way to understand human nature," he said thoughtfully. "Force in sufficient amounts had always worked for them. They did not need to consider other means of persuasion. Mr. Shirogane is particularly resistant to force - social or physical. I think an appeal to his pride, to his desire to be a force for positive change, would be most effective. Appearances aside he remains a young man. There is much he could do in the world." He nodded slowly, mostly to himself - unaware that the rest of the room was watching him closely. He looked toward Dr. Brice and Dr. Pender. "When you speak with Keith again, tell him to bring news of the world with him. In specific, events that Mr. Shirogane might want to influence. He is not to suggest that Mr. Shirogane _should_ or _must_ influence those events. Only bring them to his attention. I think, in addition, we shall add a news screen to his quarters, and see it updates regularly."

Dr. Pender observed, "We did that at the outset, Merisan. He would only talk about the news events, and not himself. That was why we removed it."

Dr. Merisan smiled, which looked rather frightening on his whip-scarred face. "Indeed. I have some ideas, however. Permit me to test them."

~*~

Shiro eyed the staff dubiously, as they affixed the screen above his dresser. He knew better than to ask them why; the answer would just be 'because we were told to'. There was no way to change the channel - just the volume. As they left, it began scrolling headlines. Earth news, and a few reports of places beyond - humanity was still getting the hang of the idea of there being other places, and not a lot of reporters (at least, when compared to the size of the known universe) had ventured out past the solar system to get stories.

He watched it for a while. You could get a pretty good sense of where the world was at just from headlines, if you saw enough of them. The world was still recovering, of course. Major population centers were mostly rebuilt, though the losses in art and architecture were still being assessed. The Galra hadn't _taken_ them - just destroyed them. Rural areas were still mostly devastated, with many regions having little more than an outpost setup - a store, a post office, and a multipurpose community center as those professions that _could not_ urbanize happened to require. A great deal of infrastructure had been destroyed, which meant that farms and ranches needed to be as self-sufficient as possible while they were rebuilt. And humanity as a whole was only very cautiously welcoming to alien races. To judge by the headlines, it was seen as a necessity while humanity got back on its collective feet, but likely to change if and when humankind no longer _depended_ for its safety on the goodwill of more advanced races. Reviews of new entertainment showed a lot of people in purple latex and fur in villain roles.

Shiro lost track of time, watching the news scroll. The world didn't seem to have changed all that much since he'd come here. Dr. Merisan knocked, and waited a few polite seconds before entering. "I see you are enjoying the news," he said.

"I don't know that 'enjoy' is the right word," said Shiro dryly. "Nothing seems to have changed. Except that now there's time to make new television shows and movies."

"Change is one of those things that happens slowly, without a catalyst to speed it," said Dr. Merisan pleasantly, taking his habitual seat. 

"You'd think finding out we're not remotely alone in the universe would cause more change than this, though," said Shiro.

"As the discovery of new continents caused change?" asked Dr. Merisan. "The world may grow, but human nature remains human nature. How are you today?"

"...I don't know," Shiro admitted after a while. "Restless. You couldn't take that screen out of here, could you?"

"It will turn off at lights-out," said Dr. Merisan. "And on again in the morning. We would not wish to deprive you of sleep."

Shiro's eyes narrowed. "That wasn't what I asked."

"No," said Dr. Merisan. "To answer you: no. It is text-only. There will be no commentary, no videos to disturb you. If the news does not interest you, you have no need to peruse it. But the screen will remain."

"Why?" asked Shiro. "I'm certain I've been here several months without it."

Merisan countered with a question. "Why does it bother you?"

Shiro opened his mouth to answer. Closed it. Looked out the window, with a stubborn set to his features. 

Merisan firmly did not smile. He did, however, make a note on his tablet. As he'd thought - Shiro could only pretend the world didn't need him if he couldn't see what the world was doing. Given the opportunity to know for certain, Shiro couldn't actually resist the temptation to know what was going on. And knowing what was going on made it much, much harder for him to sit still and let it happen. After a few minuts of Shiro's silence, the doctor said, "I would like you to tell me about the Pyrexian, if you would."

The look this won him was on the edge of anger. "What would you know about that?"

"The Champion has some very devoted fans," said Dr. Merisan with a neutral sort of amusement. "Word of his victories is well documented, it would seem."

The anger became bitterness, with more than a touch of dread. "...We fought. I won. Is that what you needed to know?"

"Tell me about it, please," said Dr. Merisan.

It seemed for several minutes that Shiro would do no such thing. But there was still that air of agitation about him, of restlessness. And anger at himself that he felt that way. "He'd survived the arena for decaphoebs, he told me. Won every fight. I wasn't the first 'champion' of the Arena, not by a long shot. He'd been champion...a few decaphoebs before I was captured. His patron sent him to the Druids rather than let Myzax kill him."

"So you knew him?" asked Merisan, keeping his tone gentle, kind.

"...Yeah," Shiro admitted. "You got to know those that survived more than a few fights. He told me about his planet, his people. How he was the last one left because the Empire considered them a threat. Too volatile - literally - to control, too dangerous to leave behind their lines. He thought Earth would be like that, when I told him about us. Too adaptable. Too quick. And too stubborn."

"He sounds like a wise friend," said Merisan. "Or ally at the least."

"Arena slaves don't have allies," said Shiro bitterly. "You're on your own. The others will help you if they can, but not at the risk of their lives, or their planet's existence. He knew it. I knew it. His patron had won him some time...time he told me no one should ever wish for. But the druids had taken everything they wanted and he was going to die on the sands."

Merisan made a note. "How did you come to fight him, then?" he asked, although he knew. Varkon's binders were very useful.

"Zarkon," Shiro almost growled the name. "Whenever the Emperor was in the mood to attend the games, the fights were to the death. And he liked to see skill. So they'd put the strongest combatants in opposition. Sometimes you'd get lucky. A disgraced officer or something like that. But most of the time it was a friend. A friend you had to kill, or die at his hands. One day...it was Jeris and me."

"Jeris?" asked Merisan quietly. "That was the name of the Pyrexian?"

"What, did the huge arena fandom not care what his name was?" snapped Shiro. "We all had names. It was...easier, not to use them. But we knew them. He was fighting for the survival of his race. When he was gone, there wouldn't be any more Pyrexians. Not even much of a record of them - just one more world, one more species, the galra wiped out. I was just fighting not to die."

Merisan made another note. This was likely the source of the issue. "Was it a difficult battle?"

"Yeah," said Shiro, with no pride in it. He looked out the window at the trees, their branches swaying slightly in the breeze. "He was good. And powerful. That fire he could make was hot enough to burn even if you were several feet away from it. I had to wait him out. Make him expend the spray that ignited. Attack him before he could make more. I knew...he might regret having to, but he'd kill me if he could. He had too much to lose, too much to fight for."

"And you did not?" asked Merisan carefully.

"Not like he did," said Shiro.

"If you had died on the sands, what would have changed for your friend?" asked Merisan.

That got him an evil look. Just...deeply aggravated. "I've already thought about all this, doctor. If I hadn't killed him, someone else would have. No one lives to old age in the arena. It only takes one mistake. And if I'd died, who would have warned Earth the Galra were coming for the Blue Lion? But Earth already knew the Galra were out there. Pidge was intercepting transmissions before I arrived. Keith was already on the trail of the Blue Lion. Even if it wouldn't take him, he would have done _something_."

Merisan flipped back through his notes. "Mmm. I understand the Lions are particularly choosy about their pilots," he said. "And Keith had been expelled from the Garrison and was living as a hermit. Allow me to posit an alternate theory. When the Galra came to Earth, Keith would have died keeping the Lion from the Galra, or at best, been taken prisoner. The Garrison cadets, without the protection of Holt's shields, would have died or been taken prisoner also. The paladins would never have come together. And Earth would, at best, be simply another Galra slave world." He let that sink in - by Shiro's sour expression, it was - and then asked, again, "If you had died on the sands, what would have changed for your friend?"

" _It wouldn't have been my hand that took off his head,_ " Shiro growled. "He deserved better than that."

"I see," said Merisan softly. "So. Because all the arena slaves were friends, as you have said, the deaths were quick? Painless?"

Shiro closed his eyes. "Of course not," he said. "Stop it, doctor. Just...stop it."

"I am afraid I cannot do that," said Dr. Merisan, but he was gentle about it. "You return almost daily to this fight with the Pyrexian, do you not?"

"It didn't have to be _my_ hand that killed him!" Shiro snapped. "Can't you get that? _Even if_ he would only have died to someone else later on. _Even if_ the fate of Earth hung on my victory. I certainly didn't know that at the time! All I knew was he was the very last of his entire species, his whole world. And he was my friend. And I killed him just to stay alive one more day."

Dr. Merisan nodded thoughtfully. "Did he tell you about his people, his world?" he asked. "We can at least make certain that his race is not forgotten."

Shiro blinked at him. "...Yes," he said. "I don't know much. But I'll write down what he had to say. If...you could maybe get a ghostwriter, a researcher? If anyone remembers them beside me?"

"I will put out the word for you," said Dr. Merisan. "I do have some connections in publishing. And I will see that you have the means to record your thoughts."

~*~

The doctors studied the recorded session. "Really," said Schlessinger. "You offered the man a book deal."

Merisan sighed. "No," he said. "I offered him a means to work through his survivor's guilt. And it is certainly an interesting enough topic that _some_ researcher will be willing to make his name with it. Tell the paladins that Mr. Shirogane wishes the word put out, and at least half the work will be done for him. If the binders on the Champion are anything to go by."

Dr. Brice nodded. "It may work. We will have to see how his flashbacks are affected. In the meantime, a keypad is unlikely to cause him harm." She looked to the others. "Progress at last. Do we still want to add Keith to the work load?"

"Yes," said Dr. Pender, firmly. "We continue. If Merisan is correct then we now have the means to address the flashbacks effectively. There remains the issue of Ryou. And for that, we will require Keith."

Brice sighed. "I will contact him, then. Schlessigner. The console?"

"The Yellow Paladin has promised it will be functional within a few days," said the doctor. "Apparently he visits Earth rarely enough that there are many demands on his time."

~*~

There was a point that Keith knew well, where conscious thought stopped. The body continued the work of survival - find food, find water, find shelter - and the mind assessed the available offerings, temperature, wind, weather patterns. But _thought_ stopped. The self became one with the world around it. He slipped into the state bit by bit, curled against Kosmo at night and traveling by day, and it was exactly what he needed.

His dreams were interesting, but for whatever reason they always were in that state. He'd dreamed of Shiro's return to earth - although it had never been exactly that. Just something coming from the sky, night after night, and the place where it would be. He'd dreamed the canyons where the Blue Lion waited, but with not enough detail to find them on that alone. Lance was probably right; he'd been picking up visions from the Blue Lion, and his sleeping mind had gotten the messages jumbled. But the Blue Lion was gone, so he wasn't sure where the dreams were coming from now.

He dreamed of Oriande a lot. Not as he'd last seen it - inhabited, and largely devastated by their battles with Sincline and Honerva's acolytes. No, in his dreams it was...kind of like a benign version of the cosmic abyss. Floating islands of beautiful creatures of all descriptions, a sky that seemed to cover the entire rainbow over the course of a day, and a night sky that held no stars, but bands of aurora waving like translucent banners. It was empty - no people, no sentient aliens, no structures of any kind. Just himself, and Kosmo, teleporting from island to island, hunting for something. The dreams were rather restful, really. 

The sound of the phone ringing should have startled, but it felt more like the arrival of something expected. Keith answered it, feeling like he was coming back into focus. 

It was apparently time to go back. He agreed to be there soon, hung up, looked around. Proooobably Canada somewhere. Kosmo liked the bigger game. He ruffled the wolf's fur. "Time to go home and get cleaned up."

A moment later, all that remained of them was a small swirl of blue motes, and a ring of stones where the campfire had been.


	15. Propelled by Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you think about it, I'm like 90 percent certain you know who they're going to meet.

The first thing Pidge thought when a new face appeared on her secure console was _damn, they've hacked it_. Then she recognized the face from her files as one of Shiro's doctors, although she couldn't remember offhand which one.

The secure Green console was in the Holt residence, since Matt and Sam had as much to say as Pidge did. Colleen had made 'the family eats dinner together, every night' into an ironclad rule; Matt and Pidge were both of the opinion that if they ever _did_ meet a Special Someone, that someone had better be happy living next door to their mother in law. Colleen was not letting her family get out of her reach again, ever. So Pidge was excused from dinner to go see what was so important.

The doctor was an older man, and apparently addressing the console from a seated position. "Ah, hello," he offered. "Am I addressing the Green Paladin?"

Pidge blinked. Sometimes it was good to be reminded that other people weren't as routinely informed about the entirety of everyone's circles as she was. "Yeah. You're one of Shiro's doctors, right? Which one are you?"

It was also good for _other people_ to know that Pidge _did_ routinely stay informed. The old doctor looked startled, and briefly afraid, before getting a grip on himself. "I am Dr. Schlessinger, ma'am. How should I address you?"

"I think I'm good with 'ma'am' for the moment," said Pidge, who generally liked seeing what other people thought was the best option to use. It told her so much about how they thought. "This is a secure line. You want something. What is it?"

"To make your acquaintance, first of all, ma'am." The doctor made the 'ma'am' sound like something from an old butler. "And second, to ask questions. Your reputation as the most knowledgable paladin is clearly well earned. We need that."

"Do ya now," drawled Pidge. "And I'm telling you stuff that Shiro and Keith wouldn't becauuuuuuuse?"

"Oh in many cases you are not, ma'am," said the doctor quickly. "But we have come to learn that the interrelationships of the Voltron Paldins are...shall we say, _complex_. Multiple perspectives help us to separate fact from perception. Increase the sample size, as it were."

Pidge nodded. "Fair enough. But you're probably going to need the whole family on this - mine, I mean. Matt and my dad knew Shiro pretty well before Kerberos. I only really got to know him afterward. Oh, and this is dinner time, and my mom's a real stickler for dinner time. So unless it's an _emergency_ , I'd suggest marking an hour before this and an hour after this out of bounds."

She saw Schlessinger make a note on something offscreen. "Thank you for that, ma'am," he said. "When would be a good time for you to answer, say, most of a day's worth of questions?"

Pidge had to give that some thought. She didn't really have many entire days free. Too easy to get bored. But she could shuffle a few things around to make the time. She tapped some dates and times into the console. "Pick one of those and leave me a message which one. I'm going back to dinner now."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Schlessinger solemnly, and the console went dark.

~*~

Keith was wary when Dr. Pender said that another member of the team wanted to talk to him. He knew there _were_ other doctors working on helping Shiro. Pidge and Curtis had both provided him with files, and he'd seen them around the building, but he'd only ever actually dealt with Dr. Pender.

Still. Pender told him that progress was being made, that the information they'd gathered was helping, and with any luck they'd soon be seeing a reduction in Shiro's flashbacks. So why this meant Keith needed to talk to another doctor was unclear. _Thus far_ everyone had acted in good faith, and _thus far_ it had worked out all right, so Keith reluctantly made his way down the hall to the office he'd been told to seek.

Dr. Brice was a small brown woman who gave the impression that she could, if she wanted, drive her high heels so far into your ear that your brain came out the other ear. She just, it appeared, didn't want to at this moment. Her office was less old-school academic than Pender's, being crowded with books that by the look of them hadn't just been read, but dog-eared and bookmarked with scraps of paper. She waved him to a cloth upholstered chair with a bright smile. "Not one for offices, I see."

"No," said Keith shortly. "What's this all about? Why the change?"

"Change is good, in this case," said Dr. Brice. "Because of the information you've provided, and the connections you've made possible, we're finally _getting_ somewhere treating Mr. Shirogane. But - again, because of the information you've provided - we're also aware now that things are a lot more complex than we initially realized. So...we're adjusting our methods to counter that."

Keith frowned. "A lot of words, for not a lot of answer."

Dr. Brice studied him thoughtfully. It put Keith in mind of a teacher he'd had once, a long time ago, who'd had the very mistaken notion that she could make him care what she thought if she were authoritative enough. It really hadn't worked out well for her. But Dr. Brice just said, "Bluntly, Keith, you and Shirogane are the most unique cases any of us have ever encountered. And the more we learn, the more evident it becomes that the only reason Shirogane is _here_ , is that something happened between the two of you." As Keith's eyes closed, she said, "No. We do not have any evidence for blame here, Keith, but the fact that you immediately leapt to that conclusion is why _you_ are _here_ , in my office, at this time. There are problems that must be addressed. Diverting your attention to taking the blame for nonexistent issues, and issues which are _not_ your fault, will only make this harder. On us, on you, and on Mr. Shirogane."

All right. That wasn't what Keith had expected to hear, not from this stern little woman. His attention fixed on her, waiting.

She nodded, to acknowledge it. "Better. Now. Let's start with the last meeting you had with Mr. Shirogane. What did you mean, you are not the person he thought you could be?"

Keith exhaled slowly. "He...always believed in me. Always. He stood up for me when no one would, when he had no reason to. But I always ...fail."

Brice, never taking her eyes from Keith, made a 'go on' gesture. "How do you fail?"

"He thought I could be a Garrison officer," said Keith slowly. "But when the Kerberos mission failed, I couldn't keep it together. I was expelled. He thought I could lead the paladins after he was gone, but I nearly got them all killed. If _anyone_ should have known the man I found was a clone, it should've been me, but I didn't. And then I left the team Shiro wanted me to lead, to take care of, to that clone. I...couldn't let him be dead, so I got Allura to pull his quintessence out of Black to put into the clone, and I never thought about what that would do to him. And ...I let Allura keep the dark mote, when we knew it was dangerous, and we knew Honerva could use it to attack her. And now Allura's dead. Shiro would never have let that happen."

Dr. Brice leaned back in her chair. "Well. Put it all like that and it does rather sound like an impressive litany of failure," she said mildly.

"Thank you," said Keith, in a tone so dry it dehumidified.

She waved it off with one hand. "Let's try a different version of events, shall we?" she asked. "You were expelled because you knew you were being lied to and refused to stay silent about it. You were an ineffective leader after Shirogane's disappearance because you were grieving, they were grieving, and nobody was in a state to deal with current events. You didn't identify the clone as a clone because a spy isn't much of a spy if you can spot him right out of the gate _and_ evidence suggests his treatment of you was a deliberate, considered countermeasure to you figuring it out. You put Shiro's quintessence into the clone because his existence within the Black Lion was empty and you knew no other means of rescuing him, nor could you know the side effects of a procedure never before attempted. And by all accounts - and I have many now - Princess Allura did exactly what she felt necessary, and neither you nor Shirogane could dissuade her from her chosen course, therefore choices she made which may have led to her death are not laid at your feet in particular."

Keith just stared at her. "You can't know that. You can't know _any_ of that."

Dr. Brice smiled a 'gotcha' sort of smile, small and tight. "Yes, I can. Via the means you provided, in fact, and things you've said in other sessions. I can know. I can be quite certain, in fact."

Keith settled back in his chair, watching the doctor the way a cat would watch another, strange and possibly enemy cat. "Say you're right. Tell me what _difference_ it makes."

"All the difference in the world," said Dr. Brice. "May I ask - has Mr. Shirogane _always_ felt this way about your choices?"

Keith frowned. "No," he said slowly. "But then, until Allura, no one had died, either."

"So you feel that that event caused Mr. Shirogane to rethink his view of prior choices," said Dr. Brice solemnly. "What, then, caused him to second guess your choices after you rescued him in deep space? No one had died then."

"I told you," said Keith, edgy. "I nearly got everyone killed."

Dr. Brice worked hard not to show her concern. She was going on notes here, and if she'd read the situation incorrectly, it would be a problem. "Did he tell you that this was why he was upset?" she asked. "Or was it more of a reaction in the moment?"

Keith opened his mouth to answer, closed it. Frowned. "...A reaction in the moment," he said, thinking it out. "But what are you getting at?"

Dr. Brice spread her fingers in a gesture of helplessness. "You are aware that the man you rescued from deep space was a _clone_ , Keith. Not the ...'original' Shirogane, as it were."

"That doesn't matter," said Keith, heatedly. "He's still Shiro. He led the team, he freed a third of the known _universe_ from the Empire."

Brice held up her hand. "Please, calm yourself. I am not suggesting that the clone is less of a man than the original, or less worthy of your respect. But I do believe that in your desire to defend the clone you have perhaps overlooked a few vital points. I would simply like you to consider them. May we continue?"

Keith's expression now suggested he was expecting some trick, and if he spotted what it was the meeting would be over. Brice did her best not to look nervous. She was fairly certain of her conclusions, but whether Keith would _believe_ her was another question entirely. She was therefore more than a little relieved when he gave her a curt, wary nod. She had a chance.

"The clone version of Shiro," she said slowly, "We have taken to calling him Ryou, for the sake of convenience, as you know. And you are not incorrect to think of him as another facet of Shirogane. But Ryou existed under pressures that Shirogane did not. He was a creation of Haggar. And long before she took overt control, he had a mission. As her pawn." She paused, to make sure Keith wasn't going to explode at her or something. When Shirogane refered to someone as 'the best melee combatant you will ever meet', and he came into your office armed, the best course was to step carefully. But she had made a long study of power dynamics, and seen how her studies applied to galra overseers and soldiers. She _thought_ she had a handle on this; she could only pray she was right.

Keith nodded curtly. Good, she still had his attention.

"One may surmise," said Brice, staying as outwardly calm as she could, "that the first duty of a spy is not to get caught. Would you agree?"

A wary, _where are you going with this_ glare, but another nod.

"One may also surmise that Haggar was aware of the closeness of your bond with Shirogane," said Brice. "And that if anyone _would_ reveal the nature of her handiwork, it was you. Yes?"

A rather bitter twisting of the mouth, but Keith evidently did agree.

"Therefore," Brice went on, "In order to obey the first directive, Ryou had to drive you away. You, specifically. And do so in a manner such that you would not be questioning _him_ , but yourself."

Keith looked like he was being forced to eat lemons, now, and covered his face with his hands. 

Brice took that as cue to continue. "These directives had to remain below conscious thought. Ryou had to believe he was Shirogane. Thus, _he_ had to believe his criticisms of you were justified. It is my belief that they still do. Tell me. Did Shirogane ever voice an opinion, at any time, of Ryou?"

Keith looked like the lemons were going to make him throw up, now. "...He called the clone 'that thing'," he said softly. "He called it 'being shoved into an evil clone of himself'. I should've listened."

"If you had listened," said Dr. Brice, with just a little gentleness - as much a she felt safe to risk, "both would be dead now. And Earth likely with them. It was not an ideal solution, but we are rarely offered ideal solutions. And this is not beyond mending." She gestured to the door. "I think you have much to consider, Keith. I will give you time to think over what we have said. We'll meet again in time. Please continue assisting Dr. Pender. As difficult as these concepts may be for you, they are no less difficult for Mr. Shirogane to swallow."

~*~

Lance was particularly ambivalent about the dreams.

Visions he could juuuuust about cope with. Visions happened while he was awake. He could tell he was having one as it happened. And there weren't any ambiguous elements about visions. Everything meant _something_ , and while he might not know what that something _was_ (And quite often didn't), he could at least be certain that last night's spicy beef probably wasn't represented.

But dreams. Dreams could be anything. Dreams could be normal dreaming, spicy-beef backlash, the future, the past, Allura trying to talk to him, Allura just sharing her _own_ dreams with him, or a combination of any of the above. He'd had so many sending-type dreams that he was actually learning how to lucid dream even when nothing else was involved, and that was trippy and fun but only added to the confusion of where any _particular_ dream fell on the 'what is causing this' spectrum. Lance looked forward to the day he worked out how to bounce dreams back with a 'please call again when awake' message. As it was, after a vivid dream Lance now had to spend several hours (awake) afterward, trying to figure out what category to put it into before he forgot it entirely.

No wonder Keith had always given the impression of being only half there. This kind of intense internal life was genuinely not Lance's style, and he wasn't Altean to pull it off as a natural everyday thing. He came off as spacy, distant, and knew this because at one point or another most of his family had at the very least taken him aside for a "We're Worried About You" speech.

Lance really, really wished they _could_ help. Or Keith. Or anyone. This being-alone thing, for the most part, really sucked.

He kept a dream journal mostly in self defense. Recurring elements were probably important. So when he jolted awake in the middle of the night, he grabbed the pen and notepad and started scribbling. Thinking about whatever it was could wait until morning. Unless it was so urgent that it nightmare-called him again before dawn.

This time it wasn't. In the morning he attempted to decipher his mostly-asleep chicken scratch while trying to remember what it was he'd seen. This resulted in a round of Morning Spacy, as he wended his way down to breakfast (thankfully his parents didn't get dream sendings and slept like normal people) turning his notepad upside down to see if that made anything more legible. 

Morning conversation therefore took a while to get through to him.

"...don't think much of this new coalition if they can't even send out a proper welcoming mat to our neighbors," said someone.

His mother laid out breakfast in the center of the table; it was traditionally a 'grab your own' meal. Lance reacted automatically by snagging some; dreams were one thing, and a complaining stomach another.

"It's amazing to think all the aliens we've met are from other galaxies," said one of the cousins. "I mean you'd think there'd be more people around us, wouldn't you?"

"That's the thing," rumbled an uncle over coffee. "They _are_ around us. Only hiding, the news says. Really hiding. That's why the coalition's dithering like old maids at a valentine auction. You don't hide like that unless there's something to hide _from_."

_Hiding_. Lance paused with a forkful of fried egg halfway to his mouth. Something about _hiding_. What was it?

"Well, I can't blame the galra ship for not volunteering," said his mother firmly. "The way they welcome people is probably the reason this world's been in hiding."

_Galra_. Galra, hiding. Something. Almost had it.

"Lance, the balancing act is really impressive but you should probably eat that," said one of his brothers.

Gone.

Lance shot his brother a sour look and got on with eating breakfast. If it was important, it'd come back to him eventually.

~*~

James Griffin had a dream, and that dream was to be the most famous Garrison officer in the world.

It would take doing. He wasn't under any illusions about that. Takashi Shirogane had set and broken numerous records even _before_ being the pilot of the first crew to encounter nonhuman life. And then there was the whole 'liberating Earth from said alien life', which included pyrotechnic heroics the likes of which any kid could only dream of. 

But he'd retired. And that cleared the field for new records to be set, new records to be broken. And Griffin was going to get to lead the new Voltron team. 

But that was months away yet - Pidge still had the whole lot of MFEs - and Griffin was making do with a different tickybox checked; coming to the attention of Garrison brass.

General Hutchins was a younger man, or at least younger than most people would expect of a Garrison general. A lot of the older officers had died in the occupation, though, so maybe it made sense. It did mean that he lacked gravitas when solemnly studying Griffin from across the broad dark wood desk. An older general could have made it a solemn moment. Hutchins just looked like he was fishing for words. Griffin, mindful of the rank stars, did his best to pretend the solemn gravitas was there anyway.

"So. You're the leader of the MFE pilots," said Hutchins. "I'd have expected someone older."

_Look who's talking_ , Griffin firmly did not say. "We were cadets when the Galra arrived, sir. The officers died in the first wave."

"And yet, the first to do real damage to the bastards," said Hutchins. "That's good. You and your team are going to meet some aliens, Griffin."

"Sir?" asked Griffin, because one did not ask generals what the hell they were talking about in plain language.

"That new world the galra found," said Hutchins. "With the people in hiding. We've got _contrite_ galra now, which is good for us. You're going out there, to that world where the people are hiding, and you're going to make friends, Griffin. You're going to bring that world into the Coalition. Is that understood?"

No, Griffin wanted to say. No, it wasn't. He and his squad were combat pilots. They had as much diplomatic skill as a rubber hammer. Between all of them. They were _Ares_ squadron. You didn't send the god of war to a peace treaty. But, again, you did not say things like that to a general. So he tried, "The MFEs are in the shop, sir. Being converted for the Voltron-2 program."

"I'm aware of that, Griffin," growled Hutchins. "You'll be hitching a ride with our contrite galra friends. I'm told you know them. Acxa, Ezor, Zethrid."

Griffin kept his expression neutral. "Yes, sir. We've met." He hoped there wasn't a lot on file regarding the details. 

"We've got some short range craft, nothing armed, that the galra will kindly carry out there for us," said Hutchins, and Griffin had to admire how the general was making the word 'galra' substitute, perfectly intelligibly, for every known swear word in the language. "The main thing is the approach will be made with Earth ships. By humans. The galra will be keeping their purple asses out of sight, unless you lot completely fuck this contact up and need your baby butts rescued. Which I don't need to tell you will have _long_ term effects on your careers."

"Yes, sir," said Griffin. "Will any other members of the Coalition be coming?"

The general looked sour. "It's the first 'first contact' that wasn't also a first _strike_ in ten thousand years," he said. "Everyone's still arguing about who else should go and how many elses should go. But this is _our_ doorstep, so humanity's got the first meeting." His expression got positively dour. "This is humanity's first chance to prove we're as advanced and civilized as any of the other beings out there. Do. _Not._ Fuck. It. Up."

Griffin was, again, wondering why they'd send him and his squad rather than, you know, _diplomats_. If it was as important as all that that peace be the result. But there was a chain of command, and this was an order, so he nodded and repeated, "Yes. Sir."

"Brief your squad and get down to hangar G before first light tomorrow," said Hutchins. "Remind them to bring their dress uniforms."

~*~

Lance caught Keith just a bit before he would have gone to bed - and Lance looked like he'd woken from sleep just a moment before. "I remember now," he said. "You need to go."

Keith blinked. Lance not making sense while only half awake was, admittedly, normal enough. Panicked phone calls, though, were not. "Remember what?" he asked. "Whatever it is, you forgot to tell me."

"The new world," said Lance. "You know. The one your crew found without you? You need to go catch up with them. _Right now._ "

Keith froze. "Are they in trouble?" He knew Zethrid and Ezor were a little unstable, but they usually managed a fair pretense of it when they stuck together. And Acxa knew how to keep them in line.

"They're gonna be, if you don't get out there," said Lance. "Just go! If I could explain it any better, I would. Just _go_."

Keith sighed. "Fine," he said. "But if this turns out to be nothing, you owe me."

For whatever reason, the threat only confused Lance. Visibly confused him, as if he had no idea how to parse it. Keith switched the console off, and found Krolia watching from the doorway.

"If he hadn't asked, I was just about to," she admitted. "I know you want to stay with Shiro. But that won't change, at least for a while. Earth is sending a team out to the new world. There was very little warning. They'll be leaving in just a few hours."

Keith frowned. "We have to trust Earth to do its own diplomacy sometime," he said. "And it's not like a galra presence would make this one any easier. From what Acxa sent me, they designed their planetary defenses specifically to hide from imperial sensors."

"And we intend to hide our presence from them in turn," Krolia agreed. "But we still need a presence there. Earth has good reason to hate the galra, but inciting other races against us serves no good purpose."

"...You think that's what's going to happen," said Keith. He didn't try to protest it. He knew very well how humans thought. 

"We need _you_ to go. You look human. Ezor doesn't look Galra, but we can't send Zethrid with her. She'll listen to you." Krolia was, right now, the Blade second in command. Keith could hear it in her voice. The Marmora needed to be sure peace would be kept.

"Fine," Keith agreed. "Shiro wouldn't want me to stay behind, anyway. But who's going?"

"The MFE squad," said Krolia.

Keith's baffled look got a grim nod from her. "Griffin and that lot?" asked Keith. "Are they afraid of trouble, or just trying to be provoking?"

"It's possible that Griffin is being set up to fail," Krolia agreed. "Everyone who had a hand in the last war's ending has a bit of an untouchable aura to them. This could be some general's way of making sure there's enough dirt on them to be controllable. It's just as possible that some general or other wants to test Earth's power by provoking a little war. It may be that Earth hasn't produced any diplomats willing to try their hand at breaking bread with an unknown species. Whatever it is, the MFE squad are no more experienced than any other human at this."

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose. "So I'm to go...as help, I suppose. And also as eyes for Daibazaal."

"And as a brake in case Griffin isn't ready for this kind of authority," said Krolia. "He has ambitions. For some reason, though, he's almost as wary of getting on your bad side as he is Shiro's. Right now, we can use that."

Keith shrugged. Clocking Griffin on the jaw when they were kids didn't, in his mind, count as any good reason to fear him _now_. Surely, _lots_ of other kids had punched Griffin in the years since then. He was that sort of person. "Fine. But get Coran to head there too. Pidge'll be up to wormhole, make sure she adds Coran to the wake up call list. He may be only partially coherent but he _does_ have diplomatic training. Tell him to meet me at the cruiser."

"Your cruiser is in orbit above us," said Krolia dryly. "I will call Coran. You get up there before Acxa murders her crewmates or sews them together."

~*~

The new ship Hunk had made for him handled almost as smoothly as Red, and Keith was duly impressed. He'd never flown _anything_ , since Red, that compared to how Red had handled in flight. Even Black was slower, heavier. But this new ship (his mind automatically decided its name was Fang) handled ...just incredibly smoothly, incredibly responsively. He looked forward to testing it out more fully. It sailed up almost gleefully, taking a figher berth on the BMV Janus.

Keith was not, however, expecting Acxa to give him a hug the moment he disembarked, with an attitude just shy of a mother who was on the verge of murdering her offspring. "Welcome back."

"It couldn't have been that bad?" asked Keith, in defiance of what he knew of the universe.

"Up until we found the planet, no," Acxa agreed, tucking loose hair behind her ear. "But once it was days of keeping the sun between us and the planet, Ezor got bored."

Keith raised a hand. Ezor being bored was, absolutely, a bad thing. Ezor when bored would do just about anything to liven the tedium. Once she'd reworked every output in the commissary, earning her a firm lecture on why she must Never Do That Again If She Ever Wanted To Taste Good Food from Hunk. "I hear you. Okay. So. Coran should be arriving. Everyone in uniform. I don't know what the MFE pilots have been told to do, but this is _my_ ship. I need them to remember that."

"So...they need to remember that Ezor will jump rope with their entrails if they cause trouble?" said Acxa. "The news from Earth has been unsettling lately."

Keith could only nod. It was unsettling, that every movie or series that had a recurring villain cast a galra (or a lot of galra) on the bad guy side. It wasn't a surprise - at least, not to him - but definitely unsettling. He was never sure, in cases like that, whether making clear he was half galra was a way to avoid a fight or provoke one. He wasn't even sure there was a right answer at all. 

"Is Shiro improving?" asked Acxa quietly.

"They tell me yes," said Keith. "The binders that Varkon offered were very helpful. And the console Hunk installed is letting them talk to everyone who spent much time with Shiro. It's just..." he shrugged. "Slow. It's always slow."

"But forward," said Acxa, nodding. She clearly had expected no less. "He'll get there, Keith. We'll finish with this and get you back to him soon."

Keith frowned, thinking over some of the things the doctors had told him. "Record this meeting," he told Acxa. "Keep it private, hidden cameras. But record everything. I think Shiro will want to see it. I think it might help. This is ..." he sighed. "Before Kerberos, this is what he and Sam and Matt dreamed about. I think he needs the reminder that it's still out here." His lip quirked. "And if the meeting goes badly we're probably going to need evidence to prove it wasn't our fault."


	16. Dancing on Guarded Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a bit longer - spent the past week getting over a cold. Hopefully the quality didn't suffer for it.

Coran arrived in a recongizably Altean pod, albeit an Altean pod that had apprently been through Hunk's workshop. (Almost definitely had been, Keith decided. Only Hunk would likely know would a bogwaggle cape looked like enough to incorporate it into the design. That and the way the color scheme screamed 'Red Lion at a fashion show'.) But any hope of the old bouncy erratic Coran faded once the old Altean stepped out of the pod onto the cruiser's hangar deck.

Hunk had warned him, but seeing it for himself was heartbreaking. Coran looked _old_. He had that look about him that Keith had seen now and then in residents in senior living facilities. The look that said they'd outlived their children and their grandchildren and their great grandchildren didn't visit, and death had stopped being a fear and had started becoming an awaited guest long overdue. Coran had lost his only remaining contemporary in Allura. Living on Altea was doing the man no favors at all.

And Keith didn't really know how to _help_. Or even if there was any help to be had, or offered. He wasn't exactly good at knowing what Coran needed. Half the time he wasn't even sure what Coran was saying. But he tried anyway. He held out both his hands, offering, "My friend. It's good to see you again."

"We've missed you, at the reunions," said Coran, accepting the hands for a brief squeeze that didn't feel as strong as it should have. "You and Shiro. He's doing all right?"

"They tell me it's getting better," said Keith. "I'm doing all I can to help. Roping everyone else in too. Hunk told me you've been doing genealogy?"

Coran nodded, and held out a device. "He made this for me. To look for maybe a successor for the Castle. But so far, no luck. I mean maybe there's still hope. There's a few like Romelle, going out and exploring the galaxy again, and I haven't added them in yet. I'm still processing the data. But I think it's probably going to wind up a lottery."

"I'm glad you were willing to come," said Keith. "Acxa tells me the planet we're visiting seems to have designed its defenses around hiding from Galra sensors. So they might remember Altea kindly. Enough to hear us out."

"I don't want to be away from Altea too long," said Coran. "The castle always needs dusting. And birds perch on the statue."

Keith decided now was _probably_ not the time to tell Coran to think a little bigger than castle dust and pigeon droppings. Or whatever bird it was on Altea. Coran said it like this was incredibly important, and for him it probably still was. Allura's castle, Allura's statue. 

Four lights lit up on nearby bays, indicating ships given clearance to berth. Keith turned to watch them.

MFEs, they were not. It looked, in honesty, like they'd grabbed the first four crystal-powered system hoppers they could find. that weren't stamped with someone's name. Most humans still wanted to get a firm grip on their own solar system before exploring broadly to other stars. System hoppers had the speed to make an Earth-Mars run in an hour or so, or an Earth-Jupiter run inside a day or so. They were more for transport than anything else. The Garrison had been training cadets with them for a year or two now, getting them used to the distances and the sights of non-Earth skies. But these four were certainly cleaned up, with what looked like new coats of paint sealed on.

As the pilots climbed out, there was a tired, 'of course' sort of "Oh, it's _your_ ship. How did I not guess that," and Keith nodded toward Griffin.

Rizavi, who still thought Keith was cute, strode happily forward to grab his hand, causing Coran to step back a bit. "Oh hey, you totally dropped off the radar for a while there. So you're exploring now?"

Keith accepted her welcome stoically, but turned his attention to Kinkade. "Did you bring a camera?"

He got a grin in response and a fairly large and stuffed carryall. "Brought several. Historic moment, right?"

Keith turned and squeezed Coran's shoulder, silent confirmation that the Altean was included. "Come with me. We'll jump to the occluded location where most of the preliminary work's been done. There you'll see firsthand what is and isn't available and can decide what you want to do."

Griffin eyed Keith warily. "You're not taking charge?"

"I'm here to get you four to the system," said Keith. "And I'll go down with you to the planet, and take Ezor and Coran with me. But the Garrison's got to take its own steps sometime. This is your mission."

Griffin clearly wasn't sure what to make of that. It sounded like a blank check. He didn't trust that it was one. "My mission doesn't mean you follow my orders, though, does it."

Keith awarded him a level look. "What do _you_ think?" he asked, very very calmly.

While the correct answer was in fact 'I'll obey them if I think they make sense at the time,', Keith was quite all right with Griffin nodding and saying "No. Got it. Right." He looked around. "You know, I don't think I've ever been _inside_ one of these."

"It's been heavily modified," said Keith. "The hangar deck's smaller, for one thing. We usually fly cargo. The weapons systems we left alone, though. And Leifsdotter, please pry yourself off my ship."

Leifsdotter had found the Fang. There was much to recommend it beyond its paint job, so Keith didn't blame her for being fascinated, but it _was_ starting to edge up on creepy.

"Get _over_ here, Ina," said Griffin shortly, in a my-god-my-siblings-are-so-embarrassing tone. It did at least pry her away from the ship, and Keith led them to their respective quarters. The MFE pilots got four adjoining rooms that connected to a private common area, and Coran got quarters near Keith and the other galra. No sooner had Coran set foot inside, than Kosmo poofed into existence between Coran and Keith. The giant wolf padded over to Keith, licked his hand, then made his way to one of the couches in Coran's room and flumphed his huge furry self thereon, as if to tell Keith _don't worry, I got this_.

~*~

The doctors convened in the room that had been set aside to house the secure Paladin console. All of them had spent quite a bit of time around that console now, speaking to the Holts, and the Yellow and Blue paladins. The sessions were recorded, and kept with Shiro's file so that if he were discharged, the recordings would go with him or be destroyed. All of the doctors understood that as much as they protected the privacy of their patients, in this case it was very important to protect his friends as well. In certain nebulous yet very real respects, 'the paladins of Voltron' really were a single entity.

And they all wanted Shiro to get better. Their perspectives on events were all quite different, and thus everyone had made valuable contributions without even realizing it. Brice, being point physician with Keith, had much to add from Matt Holt regarding certain battles. There were many questions about what Shiro knew, and when he knew it, as certain interpretations of the data suggested a far greater degree of subconscious control on Haggar's part.

Brice noted, "Shirogane cannot cope with a forcible loss of control. The man has been violated, in very nearly every sense it is conceivable to do so. Denial is the only defense he has."

Merisan grunted agreement. "I firmly believe he knows all of it. Remembers all of it. And that that knowledge is precisely what paralyzes him. He can _only_ choose to believe that his deeply questionable decisions were _his own_. And that is beyond his ability to make any reparation for, as he knows they were wrong and has no real explanation for why he chose as he did. The only alternative is to accept that he was used, made a tool by the very enemy he fought, against those he loves most, and that is an even more unpalatable option for him. Psychologically speaking he _is_ between the rock and the hard place, the frying pan and the fire."

"Your job isn't to make metaphors about it, Merisan, it's to find a way _through_ it," drawled Schlessinger, but with affection. "I agree, however. He knows all of it. Just can't _face_ any of it."

Dr. Pender leaned forward. "I understand Keith is called away on a matter that he believes will be of interest to Mr. Shirogane," he said. "I would like, therefore, to use this time to at least put a crack in Shirogane's mental defenses. We've been circling this abyss for well over a year, my friends. With the paladins' assistance we now understand why it is there, what its boundaries are. But that does not change the _fact_ of its existence, and that it must be addressed."

Brice looked almost green, as if Pender's words made her physically ill. "While I don't disagree," she said, audibly sour, "if Keith returns and Shirogane has gone from nearly-stable to a fragile ... _mess_...- and you know that that is exactly what will happen when we push this - we had best make certain Keith agrees both with our diagnosis and our treatment plan, or he may take us and this entire building apart."

Dr. Pender blinked at her. "You seem certain of that," he said.

"I am," said Brice. "He is half galra. And _completely_ in love, awe, and adoration of Shirogane. I would lay no better than fifty-fifty odds that he would hear us out long enough for us to explain that it was _necessary_ to hurt Shirogane in order to heal him. I would like to remind you, gentlemen, that we now have extensive files on how far this man has gone to ensure Shirogane's health and safety. So. I say again. Let us be certain not only of the necessity, but of our methods. Once Shirogane is pushed into his personal abyss, we will have exactly _one_ chance to make it clear to Keith."

Merisan hnh'd, leaning back. "A galra in love. Unique to him, do you think? The human side?"

Brice gave Merisan a tired look. "I personally suspect every species has understanding of love," she said. "It's specific individuals that I find myself less certain of."

"Shall we get back to the point at hand?" asked Pender. "I do at least agree that Keith has no trust for such institutions as ours, nor our profession as such. What trust we have gained, comrades, we have _earned_ by our conduct in the treatment of Shirogane, and it is important that we not fail that trust now. That the consequences are somewhat steeper than usual can be regarded as a less relevant detail. We have a job to do. How shall we begin?"

"I don't suppose we can take this slowly, perhaps," said Brice. "Address the conflicting issues one at a time, until he is ready to make the realizations required - either to accept the choices as his own and make amends, or accept that he truly did _not_ have a choice, and work on recovering from victimization."

Pender blinked. "Is the first truly an option?" he asked. "Is that not what he had been trying to do before being admitted here?"

Brice nodded. "The problem he faces is that regardless of which method he chooses, he is unable to face the consequences of it. That is where we must help him. But first, he will have to choose. Let us begin where his problems begin, then - when Ryou drove Keith from the team. Does that plan sound workable, gentlemen?"

Schlessinger looked a bit sour. "I don't like the idea he may choose to think of it all as his choice. We have evidence enough that says it wasn't."

Brice shook her head. "Either way, doctor, Shirogane was a victim here. He has done things that haunt him. I would not have him admit that he had no choice if that admission then hinders him from recovery. Let him choose the path he can live with later. Many, many lesser men would be justifying their actions to the heavens by now and our work would be much harder."

~*~

All was not quiet and peaceful. The moment the Janus came out of wormhole to the occluded zone, it was evident that 'hiding behind the sun' had done buggerall to actually hide the cruiser's presence from the locals. All at once, the Janus was _surrounded_ by smaller but visibly armed ships.

"Shields up!" ordered Keith, and Ezor did so. "....Who are _these_ people?" He frowned at the screen. "I ...don't recognize these designs at all."

Zethrid grinned. "Pirates?" she suggested, clearly hoping that's what they were. 

Acxa frowned, and tapped buttons that would alert the Ares pilots and Coran to get up and get to the bridge. "Pirates have a more eclectic fleet, made up of whatever they capture. You know that." She nodded at the screen. "Those are short range craft, but I read no signs of an enemy cruiser. They're from the planet."

"Get your masks ready then," said Keith. "They're probably scared enough seeing a galra cruiser in their system. If they decide to talk, they need to think something other than 'the Empire has found them'.

Zethrid grunted, and eyed her instruments. "They've already taken a few shots at us. Nothing that'd so much as scratch our paint job, never mind our shields. Acxa's right. These are short range planetary ships. I'm not reading any weapons that could hurt the Janus. Not even sure they could hurt the hoppers." Which she clearly found both boring and disappointing.

" _What did you do?!_ " came roaring up the corridor, as Griffin - clearly roused from a nap - was shrugging into his jacket while on the move. He stared at the array of ships. "...Are those..?"

"They're local," Keith confirmed. "Can't hurt us. We've let them fire some shots at our shields, nothing retaliatory. It seems that hiding behind the sun didn't exactly work, they were just waiting until we left to go get you guys to figure out what the ship was doing here."

The other three Ares pilots were also looking a bit adrenaline-jumped as they caught up. It was Leifsdotter who said, "The designs seem to be derived from Altean models."

That had Coran's interest at once, but he frowned at the ships. "They're new," he said. "And no one on Altea uses that design that I've seen. They don't seem to be using crystal drives, either."

"You did tell me once that our galaxy is too young for balmera though, usually," said Keith, dubious.

"True," said Acxa, going for more detailed scans. "This galaxy only has balmera because they followed Voltron here. And these ships are new, sublight vessels. System hoppers, I think you call them. They may have taken off from the planet shortly after we took this position before, which suggests that whatever they're using to shield the planet, they're also using to hide their ships from any kind of long range detection. We should have seen them coming."

"Absolutely," Ezor agreed. "These guys may not be fast, but they're _really_ good at hiding. I think we're only getting results because they're so close we can see them from exterior cameras." She sounded impressed.

"...So what now?" asked Griffin. "Let them shoot at us until they get bored?"

"That's about all we can do," Keith agreed. "Unless you feel diplomatic."

Griffin looked down at himself. He was dressed, but that was about the best that could be said for him; the other three pilots were in little better shape. They'd scrambled for trouble, not a treaty. "...Right," he said slowly. "Okay. Everyone. Cleaned up, dress uniforms, back here ASAP. Got it?"

Coran, who never left his room without looking entirely presentable, watched them go with a little smile. "I remember when that was you paladins," he said.

Keith smiled, mostly because it was nice to see Coran smile. "I think Allura enjoyed torturing us," he replied.

"She knew what you needed to become," said Coran, sad again. "And that you _could_ be what we needed. What the universe needed."

Keith wasn't so sure about that, but decided not to say so. Instead he said, "Zethrid, Acxa, if we open coms, keep your Marmora masks on. They already know they're outgunned. Let the Ares team talk first."

Zethrid made a face, but nodded, her mask flickering into view. It couldn't hide her huge build, but the mask and hood would at least hide her very galra face and ears. Acxa followed suit. While they waited for the Ares team to get ready, they watched the ships outside, seeing how far any ship could go before the cruiser's sensors wouldn't register them anymore. They could get surprisingly close; were the ships faster, or better armed, the Janus could be almost continually ambushed. Ezor, much to her frustration, couldn't figure out just how the ships were doing it.

It wasn't too long before Griffin and the others returned, this time quite awake, washed, combed, and in full Garrison dress uniforms. Kinkade even had one of his drone cameras going.

"All right," said Griffin, though he looked as if the first loud noise would have him jumping out of his skin. "You can open a channel anytime."

Keith tried not to laugh, and nodded to Acxa. It was the Ares team's first time going out to meet a new species. It _was_ a huge moment for humankind. It just felt a bit silly to Keith, considering he'd spent years with nary another human in sight that wasn't a paladin.

The communications hail was not immediately answered, although it was immediately evident that the ships outside had received it. Their flight patterns shifted away from 'angry swarm' to something closer to a formation, possibly while the pilots conferred. 

Ezor, evidently thinking the same thing, said, "Should we listen in? I think I can isolate -"

"Ezor," said Keith patiently, with dry humor while Griffin facepalmed, "We may not be able to hear them, but they can _definitely_ hear us right now."

More of the ships outside gathered into what was definitely a formal formation. There was a sort of sonic warble over the comms, as ships adjusted their frequencies.

Finally, in audio only, one of the ships' pilots responded, "In the name of Queen Orla the Fourth, identify yourselves, your vessel, and your business in Trebian space."

"Orla?" said Coran, more to himself than the ships. By the sound of it, the name was familiar and therefore puzzling.

"This is the Blade of Marmora Vessel 'Janus'," said Keith. "On behalf of the Galactic Coalition, we have brought Commander James Griffin of Earth to talk with you."

_Commander?_ mouthed Griffin at Keith, who shrugged. He wasn't actually sure what Griffin's rank was and didn't honestly care; the point for the moment was to get across that this was Griffin's task and the cruiser just the transportation.

"We recognize a Galra Imperial Cruiser when we see one," the ship responded. "The galra are not welcome in Trebian space."

"You may want to turn on your visuals," said Keith dryly. "We just fly the ship. We didn't build it."

"Look, we'll come out to meet you in our own ships," said Griffin. "You'll be able to see for yourselves then."

Keith signaled to Acxa to cut the transmission - though they could still receive. He turned to Griffin. "Sure you want to do that? We're not sure those weapons couldn't damage your hoppers."

"You may have forgotten," said Griffin tightly, "but _I_ still remember what it was like the first time I saw a galra cruiser open fire. I don't blame them for being nervous, even if you haven't fired back at them." He gestured to the others. "Let's get to the hangar. We're going out. You can pull our asses out of the fire if it goes badly, or join us in your ship if they'll let us stay."

Keith just stepped aside and let them go, though he did catch Kinkade by the shoulder. "Film it all," he said. "And send the feed here, too."

"Gotcha," nodded Kinkade, and ran after the others.

"Kind of a jerk, really," Ezor decided. "That's really the face Earth wants to present?"

Keith shrugged. "He used to be a lot worse. I think this is him on his best behavior." He frowned at Coran, who looked like he was trying to remember something. "Something wrong?"

"There's only so many syllables in the universe," said Coran. "Bound to be a lot of overlap, you know. It's just I'm sure I knew an Orla, or met an Orla, or maybe visited an Orla."

"The ship did say their queen was the _fourth_ Orla," said Acxa. "So it seems there are a lot of them here."

There was another abrupt adjustment of formation as the hangar bays opened to let the four hoppers fly out. The main thing about them at that precise moment was that it was absolutely certain no galra had had any hand in their design. Each of the four was quickly surrounded on all sides by the alien ships; Ezor and Zethrid quietly made certain that if anyone opened fire, the guilty parties would be blasted to matchsticks in short order. 

Part of their viewscreen was now taken with Kinkade's video feed; from that angle they could see the ships closing around his hopper, occluding the other hoppers from his view. Then one of the ships opened, releasing its pilot into space. The pilot's slim little jetpack let the alien float over to Kinkade's clear plexiglass viewscreen. 

Coran's jaw dropped as they got a good look. "...They're Altean."

~*~

Shiro didn't watch the night sky, anymore. He wasn't sure when he'd stopped; maybe as soon as he'd returned to Earth. It wasn't beautiful to him anymore. Space was _space_ , and he'd been lost in space too often and for too long. The blue skies and even the gray clouds were very welcome, and he would draw back the curtains every dawn to watch the wind rustle the green leaves and the grasses, because only Earth looked and smelled like Earth in daylight. But at night, at the best of times the moon was his anchor - as if without it, the stars might at any time pluck him off this planet and back into the empty void.

The doctors mostly came during the day. Merisan, usually, as it was today; the scarred doctor taking a seat across the room from the window, so as not to impede Shiro's view of it. "Good afternoon," he said.

"Good afternoon," Shiro replied. "It looks like a lovely day out there today."

"A bit chilly for my taste," said Merisan. "But yes, otherwise lovely. You seem well rested. Have the nightmares been less troublesome?"

"A bit," Shiro agreed. "I think making a record of my time as a gladiator helps. People should remember them. Telling people what I remember is the least I can do for them."

"Good, good," nodded Merisan. "I would like to talk with you about a somewhat more difficult time, if you would. The clone self's journey to Voltron."

Shiro's expression closed off almost immediately. "There's nothing to say about that."

"I think there is," said Merisan carefully. "I believe your very reaction to the question confirms that much. That is the point where your perceptions diverge, is it not? Where you can remember being in the void, yet also not?"

"Yes," said Shiro, almost growling. "Which is why I prefer not to think about it. It gives me a headache."

"And that is also why we must study that time," said Merisan. "It affects you. It hurts you. Much as your memories of the arena did. It is time to begin facing the difficult questions of this time, Mr. Shirogane."

"What 'difficult questions'?" Shiro snapped. "What's difficult about it?"

"Perhaps only my understanding of it," Merisan agreed mildly. "Where does it begin, exactly? The ...divergence?"

Shiro turned away from the doctor. It was such a beautiful day outside. The sky was a perfect periwinkle blue. The clouds looked like cotton balls. "Waking up," he said quietly. "Lying on a galra medical bed. No restraints. No guards. A perfect opportunity."

"A manufactured opportunity, perhaps?" asked Merisan. 

Shiro briefly looked aggravated - _don't ask for my story and then interrupt me_ \- but after a moment's thought, nodded. "Probably. Yes. I got fairly far before I ran into a sentry. Fought my way to a fighter after that. The ship didn't stop firing at me until I was well away."

Merisan made a note. "So fighters can fly farther than cruiser weapons can reach?"

"No," and again there was that combination of annoyance and grudging agreement. This was Ryou, and Ryou never appreciated being interrupted. "...So the cruiser let me escape. Makes sense."

"Do continue," said Merisan. "And remember, this is not a debriefing. It helps us to know what you thought, felt, as well."

Shiro closed his eyes. Those had not been good days. "Crash landed on an ice rock. An ice rock with very large carnivores on it. Eventually wound up captured, or rescued, by the resistance listening post operatives stationed there."

Merisan checked his notes. "When did your goal change from escape to reaching Voltron?"

"When I woke up and realized rebels had me, and not the galra," said Shiro slowly. "Up until then I just wanted to get away from my prison. But when I heard those two arguing, I realized I had a chance to get back to the others. And once I thought of that I couldn't think of anything else."

Merisan took a careful breath. This was edging on thin ice. "Is that normal, for you? To focus so singularly on a goal?"

"Not... _usually_ ," Shiro admitted after a while. "I mean yes, focus is important. But so is proper planning, preparation. I was desperate to get back to the paladins. I took dangerous risks."

"To the paladins," asked Merisan, "Or to Voltron?"

"There is no difference," said Shiro, defensive.

"But there is," said Merisan. "Voltron is the five lions. The paladins were your friends, companions. With or without the lions." He paused. "It would be understandable if the goal were to reach Voltron. The lions were powerful protectors. They could keep the galra from ever capturing you again."

"I wasn't afraid for _myself_ ," snapped Shiro. "I had to reach them. Warn them that the galra had caught me _again_. That I couldn't remember how long it had been since the fight with Zarkon. Anything could have been...done to me."

"Did you have that fear the first time they rescued you?" asked Merisan. 

"Not...really," said Shiro, but slowly, thinking about it. "I was more afraid for Earth, then. No one knew the galra were out there, but me. No one knew they were coming. Getting that warning out was more important than what had been done to me." He glanced down at the empty space where his arm had been. "Iverson didn't see it that way."

Merisan made a note. Clearly, the thing to do was to keep forcing him to change perspectives - from Shiro to Ryou and back, rather than question events themselves. "Do go on."

"I took the risks," said Shiro quietly. "I nearly died...seven days into deep space, no food, no water, no one in comms range. The air was going bad, I could taste it. And then...he was there. The Black Lion, peering in my windows, with the castleship behind him." His voice got even more quiet, almost introspective. "Keith was so glad to see me. Took care of me until I was on my feet...he knew I hated medical pods. I couldn't believe he'd found me. Neither of us could figure out how the empire had caught me. He told me how long I'd been gone, that he'd been looking for me...sketched out the major events since we'd spoken."

"That wasn't a problem for you?" asked Merisan, surprised. "To be looked after by someone else?"

"Not Keith," said Shiro. "He was such a proud, lonely kid. So used to everyone leaving him or turning on him that he didn't even ask anymore. Even when he really needed the help, he never asked. Just that used to no one answering. So...I used to ask _him_ for help. He knew I was the star of the Garrison, that that was why I'd been sent to his school and a whole bunch of others. I'd ask him for help to show him everyone needed help sometimes, that it was okay to ask for it. Even if you were a 'big hero' that other people looked up to. He was always really respectful about it. Like...you'd be with a wild animal, maybe? If you're bandaging up an injured...fox, say, or coyote...you don't expect the animal to trust you, or be grateful to you. You just do what has to be done to get that creature well again, and then you let it go. Keith would help me like that. He never presumed. When he finally felt safe enough to ask me for help, I did the same."

"Two wild animals," said Merisan, a bit dryly. "I ...see, I think. That was how it was this time as well? Recovering from your captivity?" He made another note, because this was one thing that had certainly changed, and they would need to pinpoint when, and why.

Shiro nodded. "When I felt ready, I cleaned up and went to the bridge...and it felt like I was exactly where I belonged, like I'd come home. Which lasted all of thirty or so seconds, because everything hadc changed. Keith and I kept getting tangled. He'd led the team while I was gone - not very _well_ , and as soon as he realized there was a conflict there he stepped down - but he'd still led. So there was adjusting to do." He frowned. "It didn't go well. He couldn't understand that it _wasn't_ going to be like before. I couldn't fly Black, the Lion wouldn't let me pilot. I could give orders from the ship but he was still the captain on the ground."

"The captain on the ground?" asked Merisan. "So you still expected him to make command decisions?"

"I thought he could, at first," sighed Shiro. "He'd led the team in my absence. But he kept ...following his insane conspiracy theories rather than the trail that was right in front of him. I had to countermand his orders. The team backed me. So then he tried doing what he'd done before - just go off on his own, to check his ideas out, and he didn't get why that wasn't a good idea either."

"Had the two of you ever tried this before?" asked Merisan. "You giving orders from the back, with him as the 'captain on the ground', as you put it?"

"Of course not," said Shiro. "I'd flown Black myself, before. He'd flown Red. And Allura had been backup."

"Which you couldn't do," said Merisan thoughtfully. "Because Keith's decisions were questionable?"

"The word you're looking for is _wrong_ ," said Shiro, frowning. "I'd expected better from him."

"And this is while the ...other you... was trapped in the Black Lion?" asked Merisan. "Could you not sense Keith at the controls?"

Shiro's expression twisted - apparently the question was like being asked to make a u-turn at seventy miles an hour. "Sort of," he said, pained. "I knew when he was at the controls. I could tell he was ...overjoyed, relieved, and at the same time uncertain and upset. He - I - shouldn't have called him out in front of the team like that. You can't lead if your team won't follow you. I pulled them out from under him and then blamed him for not holding their loyalty."

This was putting a hard strain on Shiro; Merisan could see that. Ryou had one way of seeing the events. Shiro had another, and they weren't in agreement. But it had to be done. "Why did you do it, then?"

Shiro fell silent. His eyes were closed, expression tense. 

Merisan waited several minutes, before getting up. "We'll pick this up later. I will give you time to consider the question."

~*~

The first thing Keith did was snag Coran by the collar before he could run for the nearest space suit. "You didn't go into the alternate reality with us," Keith said calmly, "But I'm not assuming they're friends just yet. Let Griffin do his job."

"But they're _Altean_ ," said Coran. "Surely it'll help if I go out there to say everything's all right."

"Because no Altean could ever be brainwashed by Haggar?" asked Keith pointedly, and Coran slumped.

"...You've got a point," he admitted.

"Let Griffin and his team at least try to do the job they were sent here to do," said Keith. "We can pick up the pieces if they screw it up."

Coran gave Keith an intent look for a moment, unusually serious, and then turned to watch the screen, with Kinkade's feed taking up a portion of it. From that, they saw what were definitely Alteans floating toward each of the four system hoppers from Earth. One by one, starting with Griffin, the humans got out of their ships too.

"They _could_ go down to a planet for this," said Zethrid.

"Neutral ground," said Keith. "The one thing we know about these Alteans is they're pretty paranoid. They're not going to let just anyone see where they live, or how they live. Out here, they're revealing nothing but a willingness to talk."

"That makes it difficult for us to prove our honorable intentions," said Acxa.

"Do we get points for _not_ shooting or capturing them?" asked Ezor. "Cos I mean, it'd be dead easy to do either."

"Really not how this usually works, Ezor," said Keith. "Give it time."

Coran just watched, wide eyed and fascinated, as four Alteans got out to meet the four humans. "They're like...humans," he said. "I mean, much more than the colony Alteans."

Keith wasn't the only one to turn his attention to Coran at that. "More like humans? How?"

Coran was surprised. "Can't you see it? Look at those suits. You remember how your paladin armor was designed. And how the Garrison designs its suits. Which do those look more like?"

Once he'd pointed it out, it _was_ easy to see. Alteans were not a fan of angles or edges in their architecture. Corners were rounded, angles became curves. _These_ Alteans weren't as fond of edges or points as humans, but the fact that there were any to be seen at all was significant. The points tended to taper rather than be hard right angles, but still. Their suits were only Altean-soft when compared with the angular gear Griffin and the other pilots wore. 

On top of which, it looked like while Griffin and the pilots only knew of Alteans because of Allura and the colonists, the reverse was not true. The Alteans weren't reacting to the pilots as true unknowns, but more as people reacting to something known that was in an unfamiliar place. "I'm guessing we're not getting sound because Kinkade's camera isn't synced to the helmet comms?" Keith observed.

"Looks like," sighed Ezor. "We really gotta fix that. Whenever they get back here. Still...doesn't look like anyone's opening fire."

"The Alteans are not afraid or wary of the humans," said Acxa, mirroring Keith's thoughts. "It's only fifteen, twenty light years. Their ships are sublight, but Earth would be visible on scans from this distance if they brought any crystal tech with them."

"Honestly, they could be watching old Earth television shows still," said Keith. "I mean it's still less than a decade since humankind learned there were people out here that could pick up those signals."

Ezor laughed. "Bet that makes you proud, huh?"

Keith shook his head. "I remember some of the stuff that was popular when I was a kid, and my house has all my dad's favorite classics. If these Alteans were watching _that_ stuff it's a miracle we haven't seen a firefight yet."

Acxa, who had kept up with her human studies, just nodded. "Some human fantasies really should not have been made public," she said mildly. "Although I'm sure they amused Sendak."

Ezor snorted. "And you didn't even offer to share," she said. "We _absolutely_ have to start a Bad Human Movie Night."

"Quiet," said Zethrid. "The party's breaking up, look." She pointed at the screen, where the Alteans and the Ares pilots were drifting back to their respective ships. As the Ares pilots flew their hoppers back to the cruiser hangar, the Altean ships returned to their formation.

They quieted down as Griffin and the others almost bounced onto the bridge, clearly exhilirated by their meeting. "They know all about us!" said Griffin. "They've been watching Earth media for _centuries_. They've got an archive of the stuff that's probably more complete than anything we still have back home, between the war and the occupation."

Rizavi was rubbing her hands together gleefully. " _And_ we have an invite to their planet. We said we had another hopper, so all of us could come down, galra included. They think that'll be okay. They haven't heard of the Blade of Marmora, but we vouched for you guys. They _have_ heard of Voltron. Which by the way they apparently want you to explain where Voltron went, Keith."

"Are they willing to take my word for it?" asked Keith. "It's not like I still have my armor, or my bayard."

That put at least a slight damper on their collective enthusiasm. But it was Kinkade who answered, "They seem to think they've got a way to test it. If you pass, then they'll take you at your word."

Acxa frowned at that. "I do not like the sound of that."

Keith shrugged. "It never sounds good," he said. "But it sounds like our best bet to cut through a lot of trust building exercises." He turned to Griffin. "How close are we allowed to take the cruiser?"

Griffin pointed to a planet on the viewscreen, a bright blue dot. "That's their world," he said.

Ezor grinned at Zethrid. "Told you," she said happily, and Zethrid tossed a credit chip at her. 

" _Anyway_ ," said Griffin, annoyed that the big moment included betting, "Their ships will come with us. So...uh. We have to fly at their pace."

Ezor faceplanted on her console. "They're sublight system hoppers. Did you ask how long it took them to get here?"

"About six hours," said Leifsdotter, who had.

Zethrid got up, turned off her mask, and stretched. "Well. Best get your naps in," she said, her tone making it clear she was disappointed in the utter lack of excitement.

"Agreed," said Keith. "Acxa and I will get us to the planet, and keep the cruiser from scaring the locals on the way. The rest of you - get your rest in, get ready to represent Earth, Daibazaal, and the Coalition."


	17. Trials and Tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's probably more to say, but this chapter felt rather...heavy, as it is.

Dr. Merisan opened the door to Shiro's rooms after the usual polite knock and pause. It was late morning; Shiro was nothing if not a creature of habit, of routine, and by this time he was always up, dressed, and reading by the light of the sun streaming through the windows.

But not today. The curtains remained drawn, keeping the room dark, and Shiro was in bed. By the chaos of his white hair and the tangle of the sheets, sleep had been fitful and unkind. And Dr. Merisan would have bowed his way quietly out, but he knew that Shiro did not change his routines lightly or easily and that therefore this was an activity that bore investigation. He approached the bed with cautious courtesy. "Mr. Shirogane? Mr. Shirogane? Are you awake? Are you in pain?" raising his volume just a little bit with each question, until he was slightly louder than normal speaking volume. In case this was, however unusually timed, _just_ sleep.

What he got, much to his consternation, was a rumpled Shiro turning onto his side to face him, awkwardly using his arm to pull the blankets up around him. Awkward, because to lie on this side meant his lone arm was pinned to the mattress. "I can't stop thinking about it," he said hoarsely. "I can't."

Dr. Merisan blinked, and decided the best thing right now would be to not call attention to the unusual nature of the day. Instead he took his usual seat, and composed himself as if it were any other session. "What is it you can't stop thinking about, Mr. Shirogane?"

"My decisions," said Shiro. "I thought it was Keith. But it was me, wasn't it? Am I me? This isn't _my_ body, it's the clone's. How would I know if I'm not me? Why didn't I see it then? Why didn't I see it _at all_?"

Oh. _Damn._ Dr. Pender had warned him about this possibility. Shiro was no brooding teenager to be led easily to revelation. Shiro was someone who'd relied for years on his mental focus, his understanding of himself and his own thought processes. It was that very self-reliance that had made Haggar's programming - as the doctors understood it to be - so successful. He wasn't _used_ to thinking of his own mind as something changeable or unreliable. He'd caught on that his memories might be tampered with, but had never thought to take it to its logical conclusion - that self is _built_ on memory, and if his memories were unreliable then so might his thought processes be.

But Merisan had poked that hornet's nest, and left Shiro alone to think about it...and that was exactly what Shiro had done, pulling a very large house of cards down around his head.

Thankfully, the doctors had known the day would eventually come. There _were_ some plans in place. Merisan got up. "Mr. Shirogane, allow me a moment to retrieve something for you."

Shiro just gave him a Look - a harried, _seriously, now you leave?_ look, and rolled over, using his freed arm to practically cocoon himself in the blankets.

Merisan noted the chair on that side of the bed, nodded to himself, and left the room to get the item. It was a little bonsai tree, carefully trimmed and tended. He brought it back to Shiro's room, and set it on the windowsill where it would get plenty of light when the curtains are open. "I am sure you know what this is, Mr. Shirogane. I'm told you are from Japan."

"Not since I transferred to the Southwest Garrison, doctor," said Shiro blandly. "But even Americans know what a bonsai looks like."

"I have brought it in here because we feel it is an important reminder for you at this time," said Merisan. "A ...center for your focus, if you will."

Only Shiro could manage a 'do get the hell on to your point' glare while half naked, bag-eyed, and cocooned in blankets. It was impressive, really.

Dr. Merisan sat down in the chair that let him see Shiro without forcing Shiro to pin his arm down. "First, let me assure you. We are experts on the subject, here, and we are certain you are still you. You have been through a great deal, yes. You have been through quite a few things no other human has ever been through. But you remain Takashi Shirogane, regardless. You are not a false being. Be assured we have made quite a study of that question, my colleagues and I, and we are in complete agreement."

The cocoon seemed to relax, just a little bit. "What makes you so certain when I'm not?"

Merisan nodded toward the bonsai. "What has happened to that tree, is what has happened to you, Mr. Shirogane. Haggar made a copy of you. An _exact_ copy. She had to do this because she could not, we believe, predict how her spy would be tested. What he would need to know, how he would need to react." He raised a hand as Shiro looked angry, or possibly sick. "Please hear me out, Mr. Shirogane. The full story, and then we may discuss. Agreed?"

All he got was a disgruntled _mrght_ , but he took that as agreement.

"So. A full and precise copy," Merisan continued. "And once she was assured that that was what she had, _over this_ she wove her ....programming." He gestured to the bonsai. "She had the tree, and once she was assured it would live, she began shaping it."

It was clear Shiro did not appreciate being compared to a tree, but he'd agreed to hear this out to the end.

"The first rule of any spy is not to be caught, Mr. Shirogane," said Merisan. "She built this need into her copy. His nature must not be revealed. I ask you - who among the Paladins knew you best? Who would be most likely to niggle at any little change in your demeanor?"

Within the blankets, Merisan could see Shiro's eyes close. He curled in on himself. 

Merisan made his tone as gentle as he could. "Mr. Shirogane. You wanted to understand why you would treat Keith as you did. This is our most probable answer. But you should understand that you were _still you_. Just as this tree, here, remains the same tree even if one should use twine and stakes to force its branches to grow in a new direction. You were simply not aware of the presence of the twine or stakes."

"That. Excuses. _Nothing._ " The growl from within the blankets might've been comical from anyone else. From Shiro it was a dire promise. 

"That is not for me to say," said Dr. Merisan. "We can infer the presence of her commands by how your behavior changed, and to what degree it changed. But you remained yourself, Mr. Shirogane. I believe, even subconsciously, you did all you could to resist her control."

"You're not making me feel better," grumbled the blankets. "I thought it was just at the end, when she - when I kidnapped Lotor, tried to kill Keith. Telling me I was obeying her orders _all along_ and didn't even realize it is _not helping._ "

"Is it not?" asked Dr. Merisan gently. "You seem to think that being coerced makes you...not yourself. You are willing to accept that your actions in the gladiatorial games stemmed from a desire to survive, and an acceptance that you had very limited means to help anyone else do so. I am simply pointing out that the behaviors you hate the most in _this_ period stem from the same root. You were _placed under constant pressure_ , Mr. Shirogane. By a powerful enemy who wished you and all you loved great harm. Yet you survive, and so do they."

"Only because Keith is too forgiving and Pidge is paranoid," the blankets observed sourly.

Dr. Merisan leaned back in his chair. "Mmm, indeed, that is an interesting point," he said. "When did you learn to program in alien languages, Mr. Shirogane? The Green Paladin did inform me that you had broken into the castleship systems. Altean, yes? When did you learn Altean coding?"

The blankets said nothing to this, although Merisan waited a few minutes. He nodded to that silence. "It was not you, Mr. Shirogane. Your hands, but not your knowledge, not your choice. An action you could not even remember taking until after the control was made overt, because you, _you_ understand it to be wrong." Merisan leaned forward. "You were coerced, controlled. For the most part it was a subtle manipulation, and we can examine your choices from that time together. We can look back with the perspectives you have gained and determine what was truly you and what was influenced. But I would like to point out, Mr. Shirogane, that even under Haggar's most direct control, where you had the least amount of free will, you still resisted her. Now that she is gone from the universe, I am quite confident that we may eliminate any remaining shreds of her influence. You will be whole again, Mr. Shirogane. I have little doubt of it."

"You're very good at timed flattery," grumbled the blankets. "But you can't be sure of that, not any of it."

Merisan's scarred face was serene. "But I can be. Let me ask you a question. What was it you were ordered to do, when you were controlled, but flew away from Haggar's ships?"

The blankets were quiet for a while. "Haggar ordered me to lead Keith away from her ships. Use our friendship to manipulate him." He didn't sound certain.

"Is that what she said?" asked Merisan. 

The blankets audibly breathed deeply. Merisan had to wonder if staying under the blankets was more a desire not to see, or a desire not to _be_ seen. "She said...'you are to lead the black lion away from the fleet. The red paladin's connection to you...runs deep. Deeper than the others." He was trying to keep his voice steady, and it wasn't working very well, but he was stubbornly doing his best. "He believes there is good left inside you, which leaves him vulnerable to persuasion. You will exploit this weakness.' ...That's what she told me."

"Thank you," said Merisan quietly. "I know it was not easy to say such things. But...I do believe you have proven my point. As I do not think you obeyed her intent here."

"Why, because Keith's still alive?" asked Shiro bitterly. "That's his doing, not mine."

"Haggar did not order you to go to the other clones," Merisan pointed out. "Why go there? In fact, if you _were_ wholly in her thrall, would it not be better to make certain Keith never saw the place? So that if you failed another clone could be sent? And if that was truly the best place to go, why did you not awaken the other bodies? Surely, if you were to truly 'exploit his weakness', his affection for you, then forcing him to face an army of you would be the most effective solution. Yet from what I am told, not only did you lead Keith to the rest of the clones, you never activated any of them. And more than that, you made certain that they were _all_ destroyed in the battle. This was not a trick Haggar could pull again. Even if she had the means elsewhere to make another clone, or even an army of them, the secret was revealed. Remember what we discussed earlier, Mr. Shirogane. The first rule of a spy is not to be caught. This choice, I suspect, was not the spy program. It was _you_ , trying to remove the threat you represented. By revealing to Keith that your body was a clone, I believe you were trying to ...free his conscience, as it were. So that he would be able to kill you, along with all the other bodies. Haggar seems to have gotten it precisely wrong, Mr. Shirogane. Keith was not in error thinking there was good inside you, because _you were still there_. It was Haggar who was in error, to think her programming could wholly override who you are."

Shiro said nothing for a while, and then shifted tack. "But the others. I would have killed them all..."

"I do not think so," said Dr. Merisan. "I have some detailed reports on this from the Green Paladin. And I have to say...it would appear that you were fighting Haggar's control here as well. You were ordered to set a means in place to kill the paladins, were you not? But again, you did not take the direct approach. You could have simply set a bomb, with a trigger in your control, perhaps in your cybernetic arm. Something you could have set off at any time, without warning. Instead, you chose to write an elaborate shutdown program. Even taking into account that you knew the Green Paladin would fight this...I think you chose this method, deep down, because you knew she is _better_ at such battles than you are. You challenged a single paladin, in an arena where you _knew_ her skill to be exceptional. You were fighting to _lose_ , Mr. Shirogane."

The blankets were still. After five minutes of silence, Dr. Merisan got to his feet. "I will leave you to consider this, Mr. Shirogane. If you feel our conclusions are in error, we look forward to your thoughts. For now, I believe you need some time to think."

~*~

Trebi was beautiful, but Keith had to wonder if Griffin and the others realized just how odd it was.

They'd seen alien worlds, but not many. The final battle with Honerva had really taken up a lot of everyone's focus. Griffin and the other Ares pilots hadn't really spent much time off the Atlas _seeing_ the universe. Clear Day had been one of the few times they'd really been on an alien world, and a street carnival wasn't...

Well, it wasn't like Trebi, that was certain.

They'd parked the cruiser behind Trebi's primary moon - it had two - so that it wasn't looming in the sky and scaring people. Keith brought Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid in the Fang, with Griffin and the other pilots following in their hoppers. Keith had all the Blades in uniform, so that it was visibly clear he was standing with the part-galra, and not the humans as such. And really, they were leaving the primary diplomacy to Griffin. The four part-galra had sort of taken position in a rough diamond around the humans, as if they were guards.

Keith had seen the Altean colony. He'd also seen new Altea. Trebi was...definitely its own thing.

For one, there was a castleship. It wasn't as big or as powerful looking as Allura's had been, but it was definitely a castleship that had had plenty of time to put down roots. By the look of the carefully tended landscaping around it, it hadn't taken off in centuries, maybe millennia. Keith didn't recognize the crest on the banners, either.

Beyond the castleship was a _city_. A proper, modern city too - high rises and electric lights and rooftop gardens. There was perhaps more of a focus on environmental sustainability than was the norm on Earth - more solar panels, roads that appeared to be made of recycled materials, no discernible scent on the wind of industry - but beyond this the city could have been on Earth before the occupation. Altean citizens went about their business just as humans might, and if there were differences it was in personal space and civic cleanliness. Which was to say, there _was_ personal space, and a remarkable lack of street litter. The buildings seemed to absorb sound, too, making everything rather quieter than Keith was used to cities being. And the parks were large, frequent, and well-tended.

And beyond the city boundaries were rolling hills, farms and ranches. With actual horses and cows, which told Keith that these Alteans hadn't just been watching Earth television - they'd visited, and clearly more than once. Outside the cities, the technological level dropped sharply; goods and services were transported via hovervans and trucks, but the people seemed to mostly ride horses or in carriages, which got more frequent the farther from the city one went.

One big city. One _really_ big city. At a guess Keith put it at 'on par with an entire Midwestern state' or one or two European nations, depending on which ones you chose. All hidden under some truly sophisticated spoofing technology. 

Everything was a blend - of Earth, of colonists, and of old Altea. Trebi managed to take all three and mix them into ...a kind of cyberpunk faerieland.

An entire armed company waited for their ships as they landed, and their uniforms were like and unlike the Altean Empire Keith had seen in another reality. They didn't seem afraid, not even of Zethrid, although that might be because all of them were armed with quite powerful looking rifles. They held them formally, as if at a review.

The leader was a young woman who bore a passing resemblance to Allura - which could have just been because she had dark skin, white hair, and was Altean. Her attire was somewhat more formal than Allura had generally bothered with, though, and her circlet seemed to hold a diamond rather than a balmeran crystal. She sat astride what looked like a truly artistic mechanical horse - which was to say, it looked like a carved and enameled statue of a horse, but capable of movement. Probably very fast movement. "I am Princess Elena," she said. "Welcome, neighbors of Earth." She glanced toward Keith and the other Blades. "...Blades of Marmora," she continued, much more neutrally. And then her gaze fell on Coran, who looked like he genuinely couldn't believe _any_ of what he was seeing. "And...who are you, and why do you come with these others, dressed as a courtier?"

Coran seemed to snap out of whatever daydream had eaten him. He executed quite a respectable bow. "I am Coran Heironymous Wimbledon Smythe, your highness, of the court of King Alfor of Altea, and his daughter Princess Allura."

_That_ got a reaction. A few of the guards chuckled. A few more looked like they were doing some kind of mental calculation. The princess smiled. "I do believe my mother will want to speak with you, Coran of the court of Alfor. But first I must be certain of the intent of the galra with you. We have protected our people from Zarkon's grasp for millennia. If their intentions are not honorable, they will not leave this planet alive."

Keith raised a hand without even looking behind him, stopping Zethrid's _in your dreams, pipsqueak_ before it got spoken. "I'm Keith," he said. "I was a paladin of Voltron, and I am the leader of these galra. I'm told you have a test for me."

"We do," said the princess, though apparently Keith made less sense to her than Coran did. "This way, all of you, if you will."

She led the group on foot - which seemed to not be unusual, and the Altean guards had the kind of footwear that lent itself to long marches. Only the princess rode, and she kept her mechanical horse to a sedate pace, one which walking people could keep up with. 

Griffin eyed Keith as they walked, surrounded by Altean guards. "...You sure about this?" he asked. "You guys could have stayed on the ship."

"The coalition is more than just humans," said Keith. "Better they know that now than find out later. I think they were expecting you."

"...Yeah, I think that too," said Griffin quietly. "Which makes this a little creepy."

"Every story I ever heard about elves makes _so_ much more sense now," said Kinkade, who had his camera out and was zooming in on _everything_ as they walked. 

"That would not be a good sign," said Leifsdotter. "My people had stories of elves too. I don't know about yours but mine weren't so nice."

"We have visited Earth many times," said the Princess, proving she could hear them. "The trip takes thirty or so decaphoebs each way, but yours was the nearest planet that had what we needed at the time. My mother will explain." She indicated a kind of marble plaza ahead, at the center of a park. The plaza had several stone lions, all sitting on their haunches, muzzles raised in a roar. The pedestals they stood on were engraved with blazing swords. "Keith. Walk to the center of the plaza. Alone."

Keith looked it over - really, it didn't seem to have 'test' written on it. It had the look of any such plaza, which was to say, you could just visualize where the food stalls and craft stalls would go during any kind of festival. There were guards around it now, though, directing pedestrians to walk around it. He wondered if it was to protect him, or them, or just to make certain of the results of whatever the test was.

He didn't look at the other three Blades. Such risks were part of the job; they'd be insulted to think he thought they needed reassurance. He just stepped forward, and started walking to the plaza.

Closer to, the lions were clearly like the princess' horse. They were designed to be able to move. Keith kept walking until he reached the center, where a little brass disc had been set into the concrete. He stood on the disc.

He didn't have long to wait. One of the lions emitted a loud roar that echoed through the city. And then a second lion. Both leapt from their pedestals to thud heavily onto the plaza, their joints creaking to suggest they hadn't moved in a very, very long time. Each lion was easily twelve feet tall. The two lions circled around Keith, who stayed very still. 

Images, memories rushed through his mind as if the lions were pulling them out and examining them. Fighting for the Red Lion. Being chosen. Flying Red. Fighting Zarkon. The hangar where they'd gathered to have Black choose a new pilot. Being chosen again. Flying Black. Everything felt like huge, uncaring fingers were riffling through his mind looking for very specific things. There was a lot to go through, and it hurt. By the time the lions stopped circling and returned to their pedestals, Keith was down on one knee and gasping for air. Aspirin was not going to help this headache; he wasn't sure a guillotine would be enough either.

No one dared to move for a few minutes. And then the princess nudged her mechanical horse, gleaming gold leaf on white enamel, into the plaza. "Paladin twice over, I see," she said, both pleased and respectful, and bent down to offer Keith a hand to his feet. "Welcome then, Paladin of Voltron, and your crew. Mother will want to speak with you as well."

Keith took her hand, but had to activate his Marmora mask because the sunlight was unbearably bright right then. His skull felt like someone had used it for drum tryouts. "What just happened?"

"This is the Plaza of Lions," said Princess Elena, as if this weren't obvious. "Each of these lions is keyed to respond to a very specific quintessence signature. Five will respond to Paladins of Voltron. One responds to Alchemists of Oriande - and those who may be chosen to enter it. They were built thousands of decaphoebs ago by my forebears, so that when this day came we would not be deceived. In my lifetime, and my mother's, only the White Lion has ever roared."

It did seem that the number of Alteans walking very nearby and just by happenstance in the same direction had increased. For a large city, there weren't a lot of individual vehicles - mostly it seemed to be mass-transit transports and pedestrians. The princess and her guards made sure that their not-so-little group was given priority as they proceeded toward the center, and the castleship.

"What was that?" hissed Griffin at Keith, as they walked.

"A test," said Keith, his voice a bit hoarse. "No idea what happens if you fail. Succeeding didn't feel great."

"What do we do? She said they've been to Earth before. And we've met the Alteans. Romelle's on the council even." Clearly, as far as Griffin was concerned, this whole 'first contact' thing had gone entirely off the rails.

Keith was really quite busy making sure he didn't walk into a lamp post, or a guard, or anyone else. "Welcome to diplomacy," was the best he could manage. Acxa seemed to register this as some kind of sign; unobtrusively, she was abruptly at Keith's side, offering subtle support to keep him steady.

~*~

Kinkade's videos had most of the planet glued to their couch seats. Only the initial contact in space had as yet made it to Earth, but it had everyone talking.

Everyone except Romelle, anyway. Romelle hadn't just had to lock her door, she'd had to pile the heaviest furniture she could move in front of it. Everyone wanted her comment, her Official Position, and while Romelle was new to this whole statecraft idea, she was pretty sure that 'honestly we had no idea there were other Alteans out there' wasn't a good thing to say. She muttered every ancient Altean curse she'd ever heard out of Coran, along with every modern curse she'd ever heard from her parents, while frantically trying to find out all she could about this new colony.

Her heart nearly leapt out of her when a voice behind her said, "It's really very interesting."

Jumping two feet straight up and another foot or so sideways, Romelle landed awkwardly and stumbled back from - Kolivan, as it turned out. "How did _you_ get in here?"

The huge old galra gave her a slow blink that suggested it was a foolish question. "So it truly is news to you," he said. "I suspected as much. What do you intend to do about them?"

Romelle was confused. "Do? Why should I do anything? They don't know me. I don't know them."

Kolivan seemed to be aware that he was looming over her, and that this wasn't helping her nerves. He found a chair and sat down, although the chair was visibly too small for him. "Romelle. Are you not due to be crowned Queen of Altea in the near future?"

"...Yes?" said Romelle, confused again. "So?"

"These new Alteans, will they acknowledge your sovereignty or demand their own voice?" asked Kolivan. 

"Probably their own voice," said Romelle. "Why would it be otherwise?"

The old galra took a deep breath, which suggested that somewhere under that dark purple fur was a being hanging on to his patience with an iron claw. "I suggest you consider your position carefully, Romelle. It will have lasting implications for the coalition."

"I don't see how," said Romelle. "It's pretty much internal to Alteans isn't it?"

"Precisely," said Kolivan. "Only your people and mine now have more than one world. The galra are at present considered a special case; the empire is but recently destroyed. So the official authority is only from Daibazaal. We do not recognize any other worlds as being under our rule. We did this deliberately, to push outlying warlords to return home or join us, but the process is ongoing and slow. However, the Altean people now have not just two worlds, but two centers of authority. Will you submit to their rule, if it means uniting your people? Will they submit to yours?"

Romelle felt the need to sit down now, too. "Oh," she said. "...I see. I don't...I don't think my people - I mean, my people from the colony - really want another strange ruler. We...we didn't do very well with the last two. But these new Alteans, they have a queen. I'm not a queen."

"You see my concern," said Kolivan. "Humans are also looking to expand. There is a terraformable planet within their solar system, and several in nearby systems. Will each be its own government, or will Earth speak for all humans? What you decide here, with these Alteans, may have great impact decaphoebs from now."

"...You're just a big furry ball of cheer, aren't you," sighed Romelle. If she hadn't been resting her forehead against her hand she might have laughed at the look of sheer surprise on Kolivan's face. "Okay, I get it. It's...big. Important. But I've got reporters _literally_ beating down my door for a position I don't have yet. That I really _can't_ have until I've talked to these people."

"Coran is with them," Kolivan reminded her. From the way she winced, it wasn't the right thing to say.

"Coran is crazy," she said. "I try not to say that in front of the paladins, but really, that man is _unstable_. I don't know if it was ten thousand decaphoebs in a cryopod or what."

"And right now, he is your voice," said Kolivan solemnly. "He will be the one to tell these new Alteans about your colony, about the return of Altea. You will want to consider how that may affect matters."

A round of ancient and modern Altean swear words was how Romelle handled it, getting up to pace nervously around her quarters. Eventually, she got around to, "You have a preference, don't you. Or you wouldn't have brought this up at all."

"Swear allegiance to this queen," said Kolivan. "Or have her swear to you. Or whatever you may do to have one, unified, Altean government. I do not think either of our races would benefit from the precedent set by doing otherwise."


	18. The Navigation of Unknown Seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several different groups are dealing with something unknown and possibly dangerous, and need to decide how they're handling it.

It was not a short walk.

The princess and her entourage led their visitors from the landing field, through the city - which thankfully included a ride on a transport, as the Ares pilots weren't used to this kind of hiking and weren't dressed for it - and back on foot through the magnificently landscaped castle grounds at the center of the city. Although the princess had little to say, whenever someone asked a question (and it was always the Ares pilots asking) one or more of the guards would volunteer answers. Kinkade filmed everything, with Rizavi eager to point him toward particularly striking buildings or statues as she asked questions about them.

Griffin mostly stayed quiet. He wasn't sure what he'd expected from a first contact mission, but this really wasn't it. The Alteans knew almost all about Earth - their gaps were a bit strange, but they probably hadn't maintained a _constant_ present on Earth at any point, so patchwork comprehension of Earth history (pre-radio) made sense. Once humans had started broadcasting their news and their stories outward, though, the Alteans of Trebi had paid careful attention. The only reason they hadn't known about the galra occupation was it was too recent - from their receivers' perspective, the Galra hadn't reached Earth yet. But - aside from very, _very_ old stories about elves, which in context sounded confused at the very least - humans knew nothing of Trebi.

It didn't help that the galra - all four of them - treated the entire thing like it was nothing big. Nothing new. It was worse to know that, for them, it wasn't. It made Griffin think humanity was in the role of the only virgin at an orgy. It was certainly feeling about that awkward.

He tried to focus on the meeting ahead. The formal 'first contact', if there were still such a thing applicable. They were going to meet the queen of the _whole planet_. And he was going to speak to her, on behalf of Earth, and on behalf of the new coalition, and he was keenly, keenly aware that at least half the people with him were more qualified and he still couldn't just ask them to do it.

Coran was cheerfully rubbernecking as they went, apparently finding everything as fascinating as Rizavi did. Griffin leaned forward to tap his shoulder. "Uh. Coran? Is there anything we should know?"

"No idea," said Coran happily. "How would I know what you know?"

Griffin blinked a few times, and tried to mentally recalibrate. "I mean. What can you tell us about this place?"

"Not a lot," said Coran. "I mean I'm just as new here as you are. It's really fascinating how they've gotten around having no balmera."

"So...you figure maybe Altean customs are still how things are done?" Griffin tried. Connecting to planet Coran was possibly something only experts should attempt.

"Well, not entirely," said Coran thoughtfully. "I mean, we were always an outgoing people, before Zarkon. But these people are more like Romelle's, they've been right here for a long time. That's probably changed how they think about a lot of things. They definitely don't find you humans as alien as Allura and I did." He paused. "But they have kalteneckers. So they probably know about milkshakes. We should ask about milkshakes."

"Kalteneckers?" asked Griffin blankly, then registered 'milkshake'. "Wait. You mean cows? The cows we saw earlier?"

"Yes, those," said Coran. "These Alteans have had a long time to get used to the idea of being carnivores. If they're carnivores." He paused. "How would you know if they're carnivores or not?"

"Uh." Griffin tried to re-rail his train of thought. "...Steakhouses? Burger joints? I mean they could be tofu steaks, I guess..."

Coran shrugged. "I don't think I saw any of those. But I really didn't spend much time exploring Earth while I was there, and Earth wasn't really in shape to receive guests at the time anyway. I'm really looking forward to meeting Queen Orla. I've even brought my scanner, just to be sure."

"...Sure?" asked Griffin, now regretting he'd tried asking Coran anything. Somehow the intended conversation about diplomacy had become a question of whether McDonald's had gone interstellar. "Sure of what?"

"Well, I told you the name sounded familiar," said Coran. "I'm not exactly the only member of Alfor's court. There were a lot of people that were part of the ruling body of Altea. 'Orla' was the name of Melenor's sister. An ensaf, I think she was. Maybe a krim. It was a long time ago. Alfor sent everyone away that he could when he knew Zarkon was going to come to Altea. We flew to Arus. Different ships, different planets...Zarkon sounded very certain he'd caught them all, so I'm very curious how this one slipped by." He smiled happily, just as if he hadn't lost Griffin somewhere around Altean title variations. "There could be _lots_ of Altean planets out here! It's really very exciting. I wish Allura had lived to see it."

Lots of Altean planets? Griffin wasn't sure what the Garrison would make of that. Earth owed the Alteans a debt - their technology had saved humanity from destruction. But gratitude had a notoriously short shelf life, and Griffin wasn't at all sure the generals would like the repayment of the favor being an Altean-dominated galaxy.

Griffin had never seen Allura and Coran's castleship. If it looked anything like this one, though, he could see why they mourned it. It was strong, graceful, and beautiful, even permanently grounded. A long pedestrian bridge led the group up to the main hatch, now a grand entranceway. The smooth exterior hull gleamed in the sunlight. Stepping inside, the gently arcing walls lent grace to full-spectrum electric lights. Potted plants and tapestries and woven rugs made the ship feel more like a _castle_ , like a place where people lived and worked. Alteans in various uniforms attended to tasks basic and defensive, pausing only to cast a curious eye on the purple or round-eared procession as it passed. Griffin thought this castleship was a 'ship' now in name only; he didn't give a lot of the artwork or bric-a-brac much chance of surviving an actual takeoff.

The princess dismounted at the doors, letting servants lead her automaton horse away. At what seemed to be a great hall, with curving staircases arching upward, she paused. "Wait here. The queen will call for you soon." The instruction seemed to be for the guards as well, as they stayed with the guests while the princess proceeded alone.

~*~

The doctors gathered, each clutching steaming mugs of coffee, of varying sizes as they took their seats.

Dr. Pender opened with, "He hasn't left his bed in two days now." He didn't need to elaborate. None of the implications were good.

Dr. Merisan nodded solemnly, sipping dark black coffee. "I suspect he is currently re-evaluating every thought, word, and gesture the clone self made. It is a necessary, if unpleasant, step."

Dr. Brice said, "If he is to re-integrate Ryou, yes. Is that what he chose?"

Dr. Schlessinger nudged a few stapled packets out of his paperwork, passing them around. "Some conversations I have had with the other Paladins," he said. "I don't think _choice_ is the right word here. Both aspects think of themselves as Takashi Shirogane and refuse to think of themselves any other way. The differences that made Ryou distinct were entirely due to subconscious outside pressures that both aspects are now aware of." He smiled in a not-particularly-pleasant way, as one does when the humor is dark. "Essentially, I suspect Merisan has prompted re-integration by presenting both aspects with a common enemy."

Dr. Brice read through the offered pages. "So we risk another division when the issue of Keith is reintroduced," she said. "Ryou had very little contact with Keith, and all of it was influenced."

"Possibly not," mused Pender. "All of Ryou's interactions with the _other_ paladins were also influenced. That did not appear to create any undue stress when the aspects were merged."

Brice's tone turned wry. "Pender, none of the others were _Keith_. You should be used to thinking of that one as his own special case by now."

"Agreed," sighed Merisan. "But I have no answer for you, Dr. Brice. Mr. Shirogane is still re-evaluating. We cannot know where Keith will fall in his personal judgment until that evaluation is finished. Personally I anticipate several hours of going over his more controversial choices, as he requests outside verification of internal suspicions. Everything he thought he believed has been called into question. That is intolerable for a man like Shirogane. He will want to _become_ certain again. That search for certainty is likely to be his main priority for a while."

Dr. Pender frowned. "Taking this discussion out of the clouds for a moment, gentlemen, is it at least possible to convince the man to get out of bed before his rather overprotective advocate returns?"

Merisan seemed to have picked up Schlessinger's thread of dark humor. "I suspect we're just going to have to hope he will be reasonable, Pender. Mr. Shirogane has a great deal more important matters on his mind than whether he's washed his hair today. I will of course check on him later. His _advocate_ I will happily leave to the rest of you."

"Hmph," said Pender. "If he claws me I will make certain I bleed all over your desk, Merisan." A joke...probably a joke.

~*~

Rizavi had more than once considered that if this pilot gig ever fell through, she could make a great living as a director. Through the whole trip she'd been drawing Kinkade's attention to things the people of Earth would _totally_ want to see - everything from Trebian art and architecture to the fields where those-are-totally-cows-and-horses meandered and grazed. Kinkade was _mostly_ good-natured about her occasionally forceful redirects, since he wanted to see Everything too, but he did have to warn her about grabbing his arm hard enough to leave marks. This wasn't like that planet of burrowing people at all. This was _right next door_ , astronomically speaking. Earth's sun was visible in the night sky here. It made everything so much more immediate.

She was therefore not too keen about her commander looking like he'd been grounded for a month, and she wasn't sure what was up with Keith either. She'd always thought of Keith as 'the cute one' - who wouldn't with that lovely mane of hair - but he'd been quiet even by Keith standards since the thing with the lions, his face hidden behind that Marmora mask. She wanted to ask him about that, when there weren't sharp-eared Alteans around, because she was almost _positive_ his eyes had been galra yellow before he'd activated the mask. And that was new and interesting and she _really_ wanted to know why it had happened and if that was why he was wearing the mask now. It didn't make a lot of sense to hide _after_ you'd just been validated by arcane ritual, really. Surely the time to do that was _before_. But he seemed intent on staying behind his mask just now, so it probably wasn't the time to ask him about yellow eyes.

They weren't kept waiting very long, thankfully, in the big open hall. Just enough time for Kinkade to get closeups of the more interesting looking artworks. Rizavi didn't focus on them; she could pause the playback later. Then some very large doors that hadn't been visible a moment before appeared in the wall, sliding into the interior walls. 

The throne room was elegant. It did not flaunt wealth, as she'd expected a throne room to do because that was practically what throne rooms were _for_. Rather it flaunted beauty and creative skill. Clean, smooth lines blended each thing into everything else, making it feel like you were walking into some kind of living painting. All the Alteans here were dressed as if they were part of the painting; it didn't make Rizavi feel ugly in her dress uniform, but she _did_ feel like the only zebra at a rodeo. 

Princess Elena sat in a sort of semi-throne off to one side. The center of the dais on which her semi-throne rested was the Queen's throne.

She was the first genuinely _old_ Altean any of them had seen - an Altean old enough to actually show some signs of age. Her white hair could simply speak to alchemical ability, but there were a few fine lines on her relatively pale face, and her skin had a kind of thin porcelain look to it. She wore a gown, but nothing terribly impractical. On her head was a circlet only slightly more elaborate than the one Rizavi had seen Allura wear. It was by that circlet they knew this woman was Queen Orla.

Coran bowed first, deeply and from the waist, and Griffin copied the gesture. Which meant that everyone else in the group did too, in a little bowing wave, though Keith added 'removing his mask' to it.

"Coran Heironymous Wimbledon Smythe," said the queen, rising to her feet. "Survivor of the court of Alfor, last king of Altea. Welcome home."

Coran blinked. "um. Excuse me?" he asked, then added hastily, "Your majesty."

"For thousands of decaphoebs we have been the last survivors of the Altean genocide," said the queen. "Waiting and listening for signs of any others. You are the first we have seen since we came here. And we look forward to your tales."

"Actually, about that," Coran began, only to abruptly shut up when Acxa kicked him pointedly on the ankle. "I mean of course. Your majesty. All in due time. In the meantime, may I present James Griffin?" He reached behind him and snagged Griffin as easily as if he could see the young man standing behind him. 

Griffin, shoved all at once into the center of attention, blushed an impressive shade of sun-ripened tomato. "Um. Hello. Your majesty. I'm - we're told your people have visited Earth a lot. We're happy to finally return the favor."

"In the company of a stolen Galra cruiser, no less," said the queen. "Our news of Earth is several decaphoebs out of date. We would much appreciate hearing how Earth fared, and when the Empire found you."

Griffin looked over at Keith with _I'm sorry for everything I swear to gods please get me out of this_ practically carved on his forehead. It was, at least for a moment, met with Keith's best expression of utter bafflement. It wasn't as if anything were going wrong, at least as of yet. But he took the hint - or at least, the plea.

"Your majesty," Keith said carefully, "There's a lot you should probably hear, but it's been a long hike from the landing field and we all have questions too. Maybe a few more private meetings?"

Queen Orla looked down at Keith from her throne, thoughtful. "And you. Paladin twice over; I was not aware that was possible, but the lions would not lie. Perhaps there is something to your request. Certainly I wish to have very long discussions with each of you." Her fingers tap tapped on the arm of her throne. "Yes. That is best. Elena, do see to their comfort. Provide guides if they wish to explore. Today you may rest and see our world - as you note, it is only fair, as we have learned so much of yours. Tomorrow I will begin summoning you."

Rizavi wasn't sure she was happy to get an _exclusive interview_ with an alien queen...or just terrified to be alone with one. War was, in many respects, a lot less complicated than peace.

~*~

Pidge shoved her chair back from the desk, rubbing her eyes. "I don't think we're wrong here."

Her father just nodded. "We don't want to turn ourselves into the next galra empire. But I'm not sure that can be avoided."

Pidge shook her head. "The galra were warlike _before_ Haggar. But she definitely made the inevitable problems worse."

Matt was going over notes on a tablet. "The thing is, though. I'm not sure yet that it _is_ inevitable. I mean. You were in the quintessence field. You're still...well, you."

Pidge gave him a brittle smile. "I'll believe you in fifty years, Matt. The truth is we really don't know."

The Holts, collectively, trusted the Garrison about as far as they could throw any one building of it. That was why they stayed, all of them - to watch the place, to be sure where it stood. To know, to the second, if it was time to go and how far they'd have to.

The _real_ experiments, they did at home. Where 'home' now meant a fairly extensive underground bunker below their fairly ordinary-looking house. Re-creating Altean medical pods. Quintessence studies. Anything they felt needed study, as a family, but didn't trust the Garrison not to go too far sideways with. There was an emergency hangar under their backyard now too, with a Hunk-designed and Pidge-programmed ship big enough to take the family and their dog well out of Earth's reach.

Wherever they might go, they'd go together or not at all. It hadn't even had to be a discussion.

Colleen brought the juniberry over, setting it down in front of her husband and daughter. "We know it extends the lifespan of plants. The juniberry is an annual. This one's now ...at least a perennial. There's no sign of any kind of blemish, or illness. Perfectly healthy and robust." She frowned. "We are _not_ testing it on Bae Bae though. I'd like to be clear about that."

"Animal testing _is_ the logical next step, though," said Matt. "Not on Bae Bae. We need an animal we can dissect afterward. Ideally with a shorter lifespan, so it's easier to see the effects. Mice? Gerbils maybe?"

"We _need_ to perfect shielding," said Sam firmly. "Humanity is really not ready for immortality. Or cross-fertility."

Pidge's stylus taptapped against the arm of her chair. "...What I don't get is _why_. I mean. Sort of I do. But the theory only works if the entire drive of the dark ...thing... _is_ to corrupt. If there's no other point or purpose to it. I don't think anything is _born_ pure evil, but I can't see any other interpretation of the data."

"It may not be intelligent," said Sam quietly. "Maybe it's just the universal form of a virus. It corrupted Honerva and Zarkon, and they in turn corrupted the galra, who more or less made it their species mission to spread misery. The loss of life, from animal to planet-scale, may just be how the virus operates. Destroying as much as it can before it burns out or is destroyed."

"The _point_ is that it may be the corruption and not quintessence itself that caused the negative effects," said Colleen. "I've seen Honerva's notes. I'll grant you she was a powerful manipulator of -" she twitched a bit, "magic, but she was no scientist. Not really. And her focus was always on the rift, not quintessence itself."

"Ironic, given that seems to be where all 'magic' originates," said Pidge dryly. "What the Alteans called alchemy just seems to be their natural ability to sense and manipulate ambient quintessence. Which, now that we _know_ about quintessence, it seems humans have the capacity to do too. We just never had access to enough of it before now, to do standardized testing."

"If _my_ work is correct," said Colleen, "Then we've got maybe twenty years after quintessence-based fuels become a thing and then humans are going to start changing. All our old ideas about ESP and psychic powers are going to need re-examining. And we can't _stop_ quintessence-based fuels from _becoming_ a thing. It's just too easy to get now that we know how. We're not going to get widespread aggression the way the galra did, because we're not corrupting the quintessence, but the people that handle it? The people working with quintessence engines? _They're_ going to get pushed. This could be much worse than radiation. Nuclear radiation just killed. Quintessence exposure amplifies _everything_ \- and odds are those most exposed will live a long, _long_ time afterward."

"We could suggest that high exposure work be limited to a few years of lifetime exposure?" Matt offered. "Given that the effects seem to be mostly positive until exposure's extreme, people'd be lining up to spend a few years working in an engine room. You'd get decades, maybe _centuries_ of perfect health and possibly psychic powers on top of it."

"The reality is, we're going to change whether it's for the better or not," sighed Pidge. "Maybe Lance is right." She facepalmed. "I actually just said that out loud, someone shoot me."

"But he may _be_ right," said Matt. "He's not a scientist but he's a pretty good guy. And he's reaching the same point we are, just from the other side, the way Alteans did."

"What about the Voltron-2 project?" asked Sam. "Are they going to want that run on quintessence?"

"Pretty sure I can talk them out of it," said Pidge. "The Garrison is still really pissed off that the lions could just leave, on their own. And they're _really_ pissed that they can't get the Atlas to transform."

"How long are you gonna milk that, by the way?" asked Matt. "I mean, you _know_ what they've got to do to transform the Atlas. You could just _tell_ them."

"Because what they really, really want to hear is they'd need someone a lot like Shiro?" asked Pidge pointedly. "The one guy whose entire life ambition was to be a paladin, a hero, a role model, and all around white hat? Since when is that good news to the military mind? Honestly, I'd just as soon they _don't_ fill that role. If Earth's in danger, I'm pretty sure a hero will turn up that the ship likes. Until then, captaining the Atlas is a job that's probably best left to paper pushers and people that think orders are carved in marble."

Sam smiled. "Shiro did a lot of good long before he was any of those things, Katie. And telling the Garrison that's what they need to find will keep them busy _and_ make sure a genuinely good person is at the helm of the most powerful warship this planet's ever built."

"...Only until Voltron-2 is off the ground," sighed Pidge. "But they're taking every precaution to make sure the vehicles don't wake up or have opinions the way the lions did. And I'm okay with that, because that limits their power options."

"They can use quintessence fuel," said Colleen quietly. "Sooner or later they'll work that out. We've been trying to head off what I think we now understand is going to happen with or without us. What we need to be doing is making sure the vanguard of this...new humanity...are the best people we can find. You need to tell them how to find a new captain, honey. At least there we can be sure _only_ a good person will be at the helm."

Matt said, slowly, "Could we set it up so that the captain of the Atlas has to approve the Voltron-2 pilots?"

"The current crop's being chosen by James Griffin," sighed Pidge. "But I think I could probably 'convince' him to hand that job over to the Atlas captain, once a new one's found. The problem is, what if we can't? It's not like Shiro's a regular kind of guy."

"I think we do the best we can, and make sure we can get out of here if it doesn't work," said Sam. "Everything we've tried says they're _going_ to finish figuring out quintessence based fuels soon, and that it's mostly safe - a heavy rotation of engine room personnel's about all you'd need, and the fringe benefits mean they're unlikely to run out of applicants. We can't make this locked the way the Lions were. We're just going to have to hope that if everything goes badly the Lions will return."

"We've got a teludav in our own ship," said Matt. "Supplies for all of us for a few years, and fuel for several decades easily. We've planned for the worst. It's time to hope for the best."

~*~

Queen Orla knew well enough who belonged with which group - they'd made that easy, with the Ares pilots in one uniform, the Blades in a second, and Coran being his special unique self. So each group had been given quarters together. Keith was probably the only one other than Coran to find anything familiar in the castle - it really _was_ a castleship, albeit on a smaller scale than Allura's. He found he knew the way fairly well, and that the rooms they were given had been storage cells on Allura's ship. That made sense; the actual _quarters_ had probably long ago been claimed by the royal family and courtiers.

It was anyone's guess why everyone decided the gathering place was the quarters assigned to the Blades. Zethrid had definitely not been practicing her Social Friendliness expression. But come they did, to the visible bafflement of the galra, and plunked themselves down on whatever piece of furniture seemed welcoming.

"This is a _mess_ ," sighed Griffin. "What are we supposed to do with this? They already know us."

"It happens," said Keith. He very clearly did not know what to do with this lot treating him like he knew better than they did. Voltron really hadn't bothered with 'first contact' so much as a kind of rough and ready meet-and-greet, usually preceded by kicking a lot of imperial ships very hard. Greetings had quite often followed the lines of "hi, you're probably liberated now, we're Voltron, who are you?" and honestly by the time Keith had taken command everyone had already gotten the hang of who Voltron was. A quick look around suggested Acxa, Ezor and Zethrid were just as lost as he was. It made him miss Shiro - again. This was Shiro's turf. He would know what to do, what the Ares pilots needed to hear. The best Keith could do was guess at what Shiro _might_ say.

"Not to us," said Griffin shortly. "These are...neighbors. And they're Altean. And they clearly don't know anything about Romelle or the colonists or the Coalition and exactly how do you tell a queen that her people are already part of an organization she's never heard of?"

Ezor, never one to leave gasoline in the can if it could be thrown on a handy fire, chipped in with, "And you could be the first group she calls to see, too. Is your speech ready? I'm looking forward to seeing what winds up broadcast all over Earth," and was rewarded with a very green-tinted Griffin.

"Logically there's only a one in three at best of the queen asking us in first," said Leifsdotter. "I'd put the odds as lower than that. She's not interested in us. She thinks she already knows all about us. It's Coran and Keith that interest her. They're who she'll talk to first."

"That doesn't help," sighed Griffin. "How's that going to play on Earth? We're supposed to be the ones in charge here. We can't go _last_."

"I could put the word in that you'd like to be first," said Coran. "That's not a problem at all. The queen seems very friendly."

That was apparently not the answer Griffin was looking for, though. He shook his head, frowning as he tried to make it make sense. "Look...we were sent here to do first contact. But that's exactly what this isn't. So what is it we do now? We're several steps _past_ first contact."

Keith could only try and think of what Shiro might do. Or had done? Maybe ...but no, Allura had handled the initial diplomacy a lot of times. That might or might not work here; Allura had been Altean, after all. "...You're going to be doing this a lot," he said carefully. "This is just your first time, but this won't be your _last_ time. Unless you feel like quitting the squad."

"Like hell I will," said Griffin shortly, which Keith found a relief because that, at least, sounded like the James Griffin he'd tried to knock the teeth out of.

"So does Earth want to be on good terms with its neighbor?" asked Keith. "They have had a long time to learn about you. Obviously they haven't had a problem with what they've seen because we're all _here_ , and the Queen said sure go ahead and book tours, see what you want to see. They're being pretty open and unguarded. How do you want Earth to respond? Because that's what you four are, now. Here and now, you're Earth. What you decide to do, you're committing Earth to follow through on."

" _That'll_ be interesting," laughed Ezor. "What if Earth doesn't _want_ to be friends? I mean a bunch of Alteans did just kind of put you and the other paladins in the hospital, boss."

Keith shrugged. People trying to kill him was Tuesday. _Shiro_ had tried to kill him. There wasn't any point in holding grudges about it. He'd be worse than Zarkon if he went around holding grudges about people trying to kill him. And then he noticed Griffin and the other Ares pilots staring at him like he'd just developed polka dot skin and realized - again - that he wasn't very good at humaning without Shiro around.

Rizavi coughed. "Um. Not to break the mood but...does it hurt when your eyes go all yellow like that?" she asked. When Keith's expression didn't shift from blank incomprehension she clarified, "with the stone lions. When they were done with whatever they were doing, your eyes were yellow. And then you put the mask on."

Acxa answered for him; Keith was still at _my eyes were yellow?_ "It's not unknown for part-galra to ...get _more_ galra when under stress. I don't think he noticed it, Rizavi."

"The test gave me a headache," said Keith. "A really bad headache. I put the mask on because it's got a light filter and the sunlight was bright."

Griffin hadn't strayed from the topic, though. "I don't think Earth needs a war right now. They're offering friendship. I think we'll try to keep that going. But they've already taken what they wanted from Earth."

Coran shook his head. "It's not always about trade, lad. When I was a boy, Alteans traveled the universe because we _wanted_ to. The universe was full of interesting people and creatures and we wanted to learn. That's how we learned about balmera, and weblums, and many of the people that lived near our system. It seems a shame to reduce all that to what you can _get_ from someone."

"It's not about what you can get," Keith agreed. "It's about who you want to be. Who you want _Earth_ to be." He spoke slowly, and it sounded to the others as if he were working out how to put words around something known; in reality he was thinking very hard about the way Shiro had approached diplomacy on those few occasions Allura hadn't taken the lead. They'd helped the stranded ship because helping the stranded ship was who they wanted to be. And that had worked out pretty well even though at the time it had been a trap. So it was _probably_ not a bad choice here. Especially since these Alteans really didn't need to resort to trap setting.

It was what Griffin had been looking for, apparently. "Who we want Earth to be," he echoed. "Even if maybe they're not ready to be that yet, it'd be a start. Okay. I can work with that." He looked at Rizavi and Kinkade. "You two ready to make it look good?"

"I've got a full day of footage to go over soon," Kinkade reminded him. "And it's already fairly late. But we'll make it work."

"Absolutely," Rizavi agreed.

"The Garrison doesn't have rules in place for this kind of contact," Leifsdotter noted. "As the soldiers on the ground we're free to create rules to fit the situation."

And that, possibly more than Keith's advice or Coran's, let Griffin relax. You couldn't be nailed for disobeying orders if none applied. "Let's get to bed," he told his team, and the four humans filed out.

"You know, I don't remember you lot having that much worry about it," Coran said, getting up. "They're Alteans. Surely that's easier than any other option you could have had."

"We were in alien space, Coran," said Keith. "So far from Earth you couldn't see it in the sky no matter where you went. It changes things. _We_ were the strange ones." 

"Still are, kiddo," yawned Zethrid. "Definitely, still are. The pups had one thing right. Best get some shuteye." She gestured to Ezor, who bounced over to curl against her, and the two chose a room. Acxa bade Keith a somewhat more formal good night, and took a second room.

Keith took the third, opened the room's curtains to let the starlight in, and sort of _reached out_. In a rush of air and a flurry of little blue motes, Kosmo appeared in the room behind him, and headbutted his hand. He curled against the wolf's big furry body to sleep, watching the stars - and one little star in particular.


	19. The First Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Trebi, the Queen grants her first audience. Everyone else finds things to do. On Earth, a few dominos are flicked into motion.

The doctors were using the time to take a break, for the most part. There was little any of them could do, until Shiro either proved willing to engage, or his health declined enough to merit direct medical intervention. They were, as a group, willing to concede that Shiro had a _lot_ to think about, and a lot to think over, and that therefore this utter withdrawal was probably temporary. He did get up to eat food and do very basic self-care, but he wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to the news screen, or reading books, or engaging with anything much at all that was outside his own head.

This was not to say that the options weren't _there_. Dr. Merisan, at least, entered the room once a day to sit down, and offer to discuss what was on Shiro's mind, or just listen if that would help. After an hour of silence, however, he left again. There were health monitors built into the room, that registered basic things like heart rate and brain activity. It was not a depressive funk - at least, not exactly. The brain activity monitors were pretty clear about that. Shiro was thinking hard about things. That was where his attention and focus were. If the doctors had been telepaths they might have been able to help; as it was, they were in the position of waiting for Shiro to sort enough things out that he was able and willing to discuss some of it.

Under the circumstances, however, they were taking no chances. A medical doctor was called in to monitor Shiro's life signs and health at all times.

~*~

Coran was the first to be summoned, which wasn't a surprise to anyone - though it was a bit of a disappointment to Griffin and Rizavi.

Queen Orla dressed elegantly but practically, and had Coran brought to her in the nearer gardens. They were laid out in the form of a giant flower clock, with the castle at the center. Earth flowers, Trebian flowers, and even a few Altean blooms grew all together here, and while Orla had a few guards trailing her, they didn't seem particularly concerned about Coran.

"I wanted to welcome you in particular," she said, tone soft. "How did you survive? You must have so many questions."

"Oh, the princess and I were put in stasis pods, your majesty," said Coran. "Alfor asked me to watch over his daughter, you see. We were asleep for ten thousand decaphoebs before the paladins came and woke us."

Orla blinked. "And where is King Alfor's daughter, then? Why did she not come with you? Where are the other paladins?"

Coran's smile turned sad. "There's a lot to tell you, your majesty. Allura...Allura's gone, I'm afraid. She gave her life to save all of reality. And to restore Altea. It's out there, now. Just as it used to be."

The old queen decided now was a good time to sit down on one of the decorative stone benches. "...Tell me," she said. "All of it. Do start at the beginning. And by 'the beginning' I mean how you came to be placed in a stasis pod with the last princess of Altea."

Coran turned to the guards. "Um, you might want to get some drinks and get comfortable. This will take a while."

~*~

The four Ares pilots took the day to wander around the city. Their guide was an Altean who gave his name as Turle, and he'd been chosen because he'd been on a ship that had visited Earth. It turned out that he'd visited Earth sometime in the nineteenth century, though, and while this meant he could translate street signs and shop windows for them, he'd rather missed out on most of what the Ares pilots found familiar.

"The air was terrible," Turle remembered. "Smoke everywhere. Black smoke, too. Not the best use of fossil fuels out there."

"We got over it," said Rizavi. "It's all clean and bright now, more or less. Still a lot of haze from when the galra destroyed our cities." She pointed. "Oh, I _like_ that hat. How do I get a hat like that one?"

Griffin shrugged at their guide's surprised look. "You thought we'd tour a city with no shopping at all? Earth's still on barter. Reconstruction and all."

"You survived a Galra occupation with your planet and your people," said Turle. "Be proud. Almost no one has done that. I am looking forward to seeing the broadcasts, when the signals reach us."

"There weren't many," said Leifsdotter. "The galra destroyed our satellites. I don't think they're all restored yet."

Turle looked disappointed. "If you have written books, or made documentaries, we would love to see them. Is that not what you're doing now? Making documentaries to take home?"

Kinkade grinned behind his camera. "Yep," he said. "Keith told me to get him the recordings at the end of each day, once I'd finished editing, and he'd relay them back to Earth. We've got crystal relays now, it's a lot faster."

"Do you guys... _like_ watching our stuff?" asked Griffin, who was still having trouble believing this.

"Oh yes," Turle nodded. "It helped a lot once we picked up your transmissions. Your species has grown so much, so quickly. It used to be a gamble every time we landed - what you'd expect, what you'd see. We learned to love the eras where your hats were in fashion." He gestured to his ears. "My father used to tell me stories about having to rescue his crewmen from religious elders that wanted to burn him for being a demon. And the other times when people kept trying to convince him to tell them where his gold was hidden. We can blend in, but it helps to know what to expect."

"Yeaaaah," said Rizavi slowly. "We've...mostly moved on from that." She didn't want to say _completely_ , because there were always crazy people and somehow they always wound up on the news, and these people _watched_ the news. 

"We can talk to the queen about maybe speeding up your reception," Griffin offered, experimentally. "Now that it's safe to have satellites."

Turle looked up at the sky. "Yeah. _That's_ a new idea. We always thought it was...kind of cute, but kind of dangerous, how willing you humans are to throw yourselves out into the universe. Especially since it was _really_ obvious you had no idea who might be listening. We always figured the Galra would find you before they found us. 'Canaries in the coal mine', I think you call it. We waited for the day your transmissions cut off, because that'd be the day the Galra came. At least, that's what we thought it would be."

Leifsdotter did some calculations. "The war," she said. "They would have been silent during the last big war."

"Yeah," said Turle. "We sent a ship, just to check on you all, when the transmissions cut off. When the crew realized there were no galra anywhere near they took a closer look at the planet. Didn't land. You guys had nearly destroyed yourselves." He shrugged. "You seem to have bounced back okay."

Griffin blinked. "You sent a ship...on - what did you say it took? twenty years? Just to check on us?"

"For the most part we've gotten to like you," said Turle. "But we can't claim any altruism here. We've stayed hidden because the galra spent the past ten thousand years expanding their empire. We knew they'd find you before they found us. We needed to know if they had."

"They pretty much destroyed our planet," Griffin agreed. "But how would your pilots have known the difference? You'll see a second silence soon, and that _was_ the galra - but we've beaten them back. Our planet's still kind of a mess, so by the time the silence reaches you and you'd sent a crew to check, they'd be gone and we'd probably be nearly done rebuilding."

"There's the debris field though," said Leifsdotter. "From the cruisers and fighters we destroyed. So they'd have known it wasn't another great war."

" _You_ destroyed?" asked Turle. "You - you four specifically - fought the galra?"

"Well...yeah," said Kinkade. "That's why they sent us to represent Earth. We thought maybe you'd want to know."

Turle looked stunned. "...If I buy the four of you any lunch you want, will you tell me about it?"

~*~

The queen sat very still for quite some time after Coran had gotten her quite up to date. "So. There are more Alteans than ourselves. And they have done horrible things. And Earth still welcomed them?"

"They did horrible things," Coran agreed. "But also great things. Earth couldn't have survived the galra attack without access to Altean technology. We helped them build the ships they landed here, even." 

"And now they are...friendly," said Orla slowly. "The galra. Ten thousand years of warfare and conquest, and suddenly they are friendly."

"It probably helps that Honerva destroyed their entire high command _and_ all the druids," Coran observed. "I mean really, she killed all the ones we would have had to fight anyway. They're busy trying to find another way to live. Keith's been very busy with that."

"Keith," Orla repeated. "The one who brought you all here? Looks human? Very large pet wolf?"

"Oh, Kosmo came?" said Coran. "He teleports. Yes, that's Keith. Um, look. Do you keep family records here? Because I've got a complete record of the Abyss colonists. We could see if there are any reunions that might make this easier?"

"That, at least, I believe we can help you with," Orla agreed. "The family registry will have the information you need. Provided we can get your device to talk to it."

Coran smiled. "That'd be wonderful. I've been looking around to see if Allura had any distant descendants, you know. From Alfor's side or Melenor's. There aren't any among the Abyss colonists. Lotor weeded out too many of the alchemists."

Orla's expression softened. "You need look no further, Coran. Princess Allura would have been kin to me, and my daughter. We trace the royal line of Trebi back to the first Orla, sister of Melenor. I will be pleased to show you the line of descent. She had many kinsmen here. It is our loss that she never got the opportunity to meet them."

Coran's eyes widened, and glistened on the edge of tears. "I'd...I'd be greatly honored, your majesty."

~*~

The four Blades were not exactly taking the day off as it had probably been originally intended. Keith might not be all that good at being human, but he'd had several years of training in being a Blade, and many more years of having 'trust but verify' carved into his skull. The trusting he could safely leave to Coran and the Ares pilots. The Blades would handle the verifying.

Ezor got the job of exploring the castle. Seeing what worked, what didn't, and what powered it. It hadn't taken off in thousands of years - but the Trebians had been in hiding. Keith wanted to know whether it _could_ take off, now that there was a Balmera or three in the galaxy.

Acxa got the job of finding out what Trebi had done with its alchemists besides make peculiar animated sculpture. They hadn't been to Oriande since fleeing Zarkon had blocked the way. What did they know, and what could they do with it?

Zethrid got to be the Visible Galra - easy enough given her large size and larger personality. Keith told her to go wherever she liked, and not _deliberately_ damage anything, just ...see if there were places that she got steered away from. Ezor could check those places out more carefully later.

Keith had the job of being the relay. He had Kinkade's recordings of their first day on the planet, both the complete and the edited versions. Kosmo teleported him back to the cruiser, where he sent the edited version to the Garrison and the complete versions to Pidge and Kolivan, tagged so both knew which footage wasn't generally released. Both Pidge and Kolivan wanted really complete reports, as well - what were these Alteans like, what were his initial assessments, everything. Keith made it clear that so far, the Trebians seemed to be honest in their welcome and positive in their intentions, and he'd let them know if anything changed.

Once he'd finished updating them, he called Lance. 

"Was _not_ expecting a call from you," was Lance's surprised version of 'hello'. "You calling from that new planet?"

"Yeah," said Keith. "How up to date are you?"

"New planet, Alteans," said Lance, and then 'oh'd. "Alteans. You want me to come out there?"

"I think it might help, yeah," said Keith. "Their queen's currently talking to Coran, so ...the whole lack-of-Allura thing is probably a topic."

Lance's expression briefly shifted to a bland, _no shit_. "I don't know that telling them she's a goddess would help anything, Keith."

"I'll leave that decision to you," said Keith. "But I called you because I think they have alchemists. Maybe one of them can help you."

That _did_ get Lance's interest. "You mean with the whole...world-being-too-loud thing?"

Keith nodded. "I plan on asking around just on my own behalf anyway. I thought you might want to know if I find anything."

"Mark me down for a 'hell yes'," said Lance, brightening. "God, the idea of maybe _not_ having to invent a whole way of life is potentially really awesome."

"I don't know what they know yet," Keith warned. "But they definitely know something. I had a run-in with some lion statuary keyed to respond to paladins. Before you get excited, I'm telling you in advance to pack headache medication. They're not exactly gentle."

Lance grinned, almost laughing. The idea of _not having_ to pioneer a whole new approach to alchemy was apparently a huge relief. "Maybe just rough with you, Keith. Nobody wears kid gloves around you. But sure. I'll pack headache medication. Or are they coming to Earth first?"

Keith shrugged. "They could? I'm sure they'd love to send a delegation. They've got Romelle and the other Abyss colonists to meet. You want me to push for that first?"

Almost, Lance said 'yes'. Keith could see the shape of the word forming. But then Lance paused. "This is political, isn't it," he said slowly. "It always ends up political, lately. I miss the days when we could just show up in our Lions and start blasting. It was a lot easier to understand."

Keith said nothing. "Political", to him, just meant 'beings he didn't really understand making decisions based on barely comprehensible criteria'. The only reason he was any good at it was that this covered ninety nine percent of all sentient beings he'd ever met.

Lance misread his silence. "Sorry. I'm not all that great at political. That was always Allura's thing. What do you think I should do?"

"I think you should come here," said Keith slowly. "But probably not with your family, or on the Atlas. I can give you a lift if you want. I think you're better off in the long run if these Alteans see what you can do with their stuff, before everything else gets underway."

"Should I ask why?" asked Lance. "I mean Veronica'd be delighted to give me a lift..."

"And if you come on the Atlas it starts getting official and televised," said Keith. "I'm not asking you to come here because of the media blitz you could cause. I'm saying coming here might be good for _you_. And I think it'd probably be better for you if you _don't_ have a crowd of reporters asking you what prompted you to suddenly come out of retirement."

"...Point," sighed Lance. "I hope they _can_ help. I'd like to go back to the days when a media blitz sounded like fun instead of a migraine."

~*~

Coran recognized the Central Archive as being the castleship's crystal chamber. From here, with a fully powered battleship-class balmera crystal, one could boot up everything from the castle's computer core to its engines. But while there was a crystal here, its light had faded almost completely out, and there were additional cables connected to it, heading up the central shaft. Coran guessed them to lead to solar panels - there wasn't _much_ energy to be gained that way, not on the crystal scale, but maybe it was just enough to keep the castleship from dying entirely.

"This is our archive," said Queen Orla. "Records of all the travelers who came with my ancestors to this world, and all who followed after. Who they married, the names of their children, when they died. It's all stored here. We've done all we could to keep this crystal from fading."

Coran politely didn't tell her that 'fading' was not what was wrong with this crystal. This crystal was two breaths from silicon zombie. "...We should talk to the balmerans. We could get a new crystal. What are you still running with this one?"

"Just the archives," said the queen. "We've been copying the data into books for years. Just in case the crystal died. But there is a lot left to do."

Coran eyed his little device. "Your majesty...a lot of our people have been waiting a long time to know who survived. I think they can wait a little longer. We'll get you a new crystal. I can hook it up, there's no problem there."

She seemed surprised. "You?" she asked. "None live now that could fix this. The castle is rooted - it will never fly again."

Coran smiled. "Wellll. If you don't want to uproot your lovely garden, I completely understand. It's truly remarkable. But I could probably make this castleship fly again if you want it to. My grandfather built Alfor's castle, after all. And we've the blueprints to build a brand new one if you'd prefer to do that."

The old queen beamed at him. "I am very glad you found your way to Trebi, Coran Heironymous Wimbledon Smythe. We have long needed someone like you."

Coran stepped back, the smile now pained but genuine rather than polite. "It's good to be needed, your majesty."

~*~

Pidge made her way to the general's office, tablet in hand.

She really hated talking to the brass. She could be clever about written orders - there was a lot one assumed about written orders, and thus a lot that could be creatively misconstrued. But when they gave you a direct order, that removed the wiggle room. Pidge loved wiggle room. But Matt was right - they'd prepared as much as they could. If things hit fans, Pidge knew her family would be safe, and that they'd probably get the other paladins offplanet too. 

Plan for the worst, hope for the best. Humanity'd get there sooner or later anyway. She knocked on Hutchins' door.

"Come in."

She came in, and nodded to the general. Any general that expected _her_ to salute _him_ was woefully under-informed about the reality they were living in.

Hutchins wasn't that under-informed. "Commander Holt. You have some results for me?"

Pidge wore the little smile that meant, in equal parts, 'happy to obey sir' and 'die in a fire sir'. She set the tablet down in front of him. "A few. The Voltron-2 project is on schedule. We're essentially dedicating every crystal of the right size that the balmeras will offer to the project to keep it on time. It won't be as long-term powerful as the Atlas, but it'll be versatile. Your squad will be ready to explore pretty much any planet I've ever seen or heard of."

The general took the tablet, started flicking through the pages. "Good. Is that all?"

"No," said Pidge, leaving off the 'sir' because she adamantly refused to 'sir' anyone but maybe Shiro. On a good day. Not at the moment. "I have some results from my quintessence experiments. You were interested in the results."

Hutchins leaned forward. "Damn right I'm interested. How did it go? Can we use it?"

"As far as I can tell, provided you limit long-term exposure...yes, general," said Pidge. "We can use quintessence to fuel ships. I've included some recommendations for how long a rotation can be tolerated in close proximity, and psychological requirements. You're also going to want to limit harvesting to sustainable practices. I've seen a lot of the universe, general. Habitable, life-supporting planets are a lot rarer than you'd think. We don't want to lose even one if it can be avoided."

The general blinked at her. "The galra were happy to try and blow _our_ planet into space dust, commander."

"The galra in question weren't _sane_ , general," said Pidge with forced calm. "The empire was using tainted quintessence that specifically enhanced their more aggressive and psychotic tendencies. We won't be. We can be _civilized_ about it."

"If the galra try to keep us from building colonies, commander, 'civilized' is going to be a pretty useless word," said Hutchins. "Is there anything else?"

Pidge laid a folder down on Hutchins' desk. "This is what you'll need to get a captain that makes the Atlas transform, general."

Hutchins' eyes grew wide and he grabbed the folder. "You're _sure_. How did you work this out? How do we know it'll work?"

"The Atlas is the same kind of ship as the Lions, general," said Pidge. "It has a sense of itself. It bonded with Captain Shirogane. It transformed for him because _he_ needed it to. If you want it to be able to do so again, you're going to need to find another captain who's like Shiro. That mindset, that approach to life. I've provided you a psychological profile."

Hutchins' excitement faded as he looked over the detailed profile. "Not one soldier in a hundred can fit this bill, commander."

"Kind of explains the luck you've been having so far, doesn't it?" Pidge couldn't help but quip. "But at least now you know why the others couldn't make it work, and how to find someone that will."

"We're not going to have this problem with the Voltron-2 vehicles, are we?" grumbled Hutchins.

"No," said Pidge. "I've made as sure of that as I can. The Voltron-2 vehicles are key activated. The keys are freely transferable, like any keys are. But since they're short range craft, you're probably going to want to make sure future pilots can work with the Atlas captain."

"Finding one that follows orders in a crisis is the problem, commander," grumbled the general. "Captain Shirogane is a _hero_. In all senses of the word. Unless the planet's in direct and immediate danger, heroes are better put on the recruitment circuit than in the command chair."

"That's a problem I leave to you, general," said Pidge, firmly not grinning in his face. "With regard to quintessence fuels...I'd recommend _not_ starting here on Earth. I've seen what happens to worlds when too much quintessence is taken. I can put the word out requesting human staff get jobs at the remaining quintessence farms though. Send good engineers and they can learn how the farms have been built and maintained sustainably, and we can bring that knowledge home."

"Ask the galra to kindly share their fuel secrets?" blinked Hutchins. "You honestly think they'll go for that?"

"If the right people ask them, general?" said Pidge calmly. "Yes."

~*~

Shiro was not asleep. Sleep would have been an improvement.

For a long time now, his inner mindscape had resembled the Black Lion's world - a vast starfield. No worlds, no asteroids. Just stars, and space. Sometimes, the peace was welcoming. Other times, oppressive. Right now, though, he wasn't alone and 'peace' was the last thing happening.

"You _can't_ just stand there and tell me every decision you don't like is due to Haggar's meddling!" snapped the other Shiro. He privately thought of him as 'the evil Shiro', but a worry nagged at him that the other Shiro may have named him the exact same thing. It was taking self-hatred to new and frankly ridiculous lengths.

"I can," said Shiro. "We're supposed to be _exactly_ the same, except for what Haggar did to you. So if we're exactly the same, except for that one change, then any change in _you_ is a change made by _her_."

"So _Haggar_ decided to free a third of the universe from Zarkon?" asked the other one, irritated. "Somehow I just don't picture her as that generous."

"Neither do I," Shiro shrugged. "I think that one's all us...or at least mostly us."

"You can't seriously be crediting her with that victory," the other all but snarled.

_"Keith nearly died,"_ Shiro snapped back. "The whole _team_ nearly died. Yes, we won! But look at how close we got to losing _everything_."

"No risk, no reward," said the other, annoyed.

"Some risks you just don't take," said Shiro. "We're supposed to be protecting them, remember? We were supposed to make sure they _got home_ again. They weren't just another bunch of soldiers!"

"You think I'd ask them to take a risk I wouldn't share?" demanded the other. "I was right there with them! The whole time!"

"But _we're_ expendable," said Shiro. "They weren't. _That_ was Haggar's influence on you. They didn't matter to her. They mattered less to you than winning the war."

_Fuck you,_ snapped the other, and launched a fist at Shiro's face.

It wasn't the first knock-down, drag-out fight they'd had since this started. It probably wouldn't be the last.


	20. And the Tide Rushes In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally intended to be longer, but certain people had a Lot To Say, so I'll get back around to the less verbose ones next chapter.

The second audience was granted to the Ares pilots.

James Griffin had done everything he could to be ready. He'd paid attention on the tour, what these Trebians were like, what they expected, what they wanted. He'd listened to the galra explain what they'd found (even if he really didn't want to know how they'd found it) and everyone had been sure to get a lot of sleep and that their dress uniforms were up to scratch. And he'd tried really, really hard to understand Coran's explanations of court etiquette, althuogh he wasn't sure any of that had stuck.

Maybe it wasn't actually possible to be ready, but if it wasn't, Griffin was prepared to fake it for all he was worth. This was going on _record_ (thank you, Kinkade) and he vowed to himself not to forget it. God knew that no one else would either, no matter what happened.

The Queen was in her throne room, with her daughter, and both were...well, really only semi-regal by Earth standards. They wore gowns that sort of split in the front, making them look more like long coats, and a kind of cross between trousers and leggings underneath, though very well tailored. Everything was beautiful, but not loud or impractical. The Queen and her daughter gave the impression that were it required, either could sprint clear across the castle to man a turret cannon if needed. The main difference between them, besides age and coloring, was Orla's crown was just a little bit more elaborate than Elena's.

Griffin, Rizavi, and Leifsdotter entered and bowed; Kinkade didn't, but Kinkade was handling the recording equipment. Some of the Trebian courtiers looked offended by it, others more amused.

"Welcome, travelers from Earth," said Orla, clearly enjoying the moment. "We have long awaited the day you would come to visit us. Please, present yourselves to my court."

Griffin tried to talk, found his throat had gone dry, and coughed a few times. "Your majesty. I'm James Griffin. May I present Ina Leifsdotter, Ryan Kinkade, and Nadia Rizavi to the court?"

He'd tried to be elegant about it, insofar as that was possible. And he'd avoided using ranks or titles; he'd been told Alteans didn't have much use for bureaucracy on the whole, and less for military ranks. Who you were mattered more than what you did, which was a bit of a problem since outside of their Garrison service, none of the Ares pilots could say definitively 'who they were' as people. They were still finding that out.

"You are welcome here, James Griffin, and your companions," said Queen Orla. "We have watched your species grow for thousands of years. It is most welcome to see you ready at last to visit us as we have visited you. And more welcome to hear that you four assisted in ridding us all of an ancient nightmare." She turned to the Alteans around the room. "Hail them. Their efforts have set us free."

She said it solemnly, as if it were a great pronouncement. The cheer was, however, anything but the unified response the four pilots were half expecting. It was as if every Altean in the room had their own idea of what praise sounded like, and they all responded in their own unique way at once. Flower petals were thrown at them. Yells of 'good job' and 'thank you' and 'nice work' filled the air. It was chaos, but happy chaos, and all four blushed hotly. Griffin couldn't - to his lasting regret - stop his voice from cracking at his attempt at thanks.

When the furor had died down a bit, the Queen went on, "What brings you to seek out your neighbors, humans? What do you seek here on Trebi?"

"We - we're here to tell you the Empire is gone," said Griffin, ferociously wrenching back control of his voice to sound like an adult again. "There's no more need for you to hide. We're here to tell you we found more Alteans, and they've joined us and several other worlds in a great alliance, a peaceful coalition. We're here to invite you to join them."

The noise picked up again, this time as the Alteans in the hall started discussing the idea. Griffin and the other pilots stood still, fascinated and more than a little worried. This was the message they'd been sent to deliver, but if the court said _no_...

~*~

Hunk was idly wondering if all these calls were the universe's way of getting him to take a break. He didn't _mind_ , really. Not at all. He loved spending time with his family, and dropping in on Shay's balmera, it was just that lately he seemed to have more excuses to do so than usual.

And _today_ , weirdness of weirdnesses, he was giving _Lance_ a lift. The only time Lance left Earth these days was to go to Allura's remembrance festival on Altea, and Pidge usually gave him the ride. Maybe that was a good thing, too. He'd heard Lance had turned farmer (which was _seriously_ weird to think about) and he'd finally get to see what that actually looked like. He homed in on the console signal to guide his flight path, wasn't a bit surprised to wind up over Cuba ( _was_ surprised to see the _state_ of the island - wow, the Galra had _not_ been kind) and found a relatively clear patch of ground near the house the signal originated from to land his ship.

He stepped out of said ship to find several children surrounding him, all of them looking like they were just _itching_ to climb all over it. Hunk tapped a stone on a bracelet he wore, and the ship's doors sealed up and the ion storm shielding activated, pulling into the interior anything that might otherwise get broken off. "You wanna play, kids, have fun," he said, and looked around for Lance as the tidal wave rushed past him.

Lance was watching the child-storm while leaning against a tree, a little smile on his face. "Hey, Hunk," he said, when he saw Hunk had seen him. "So that's your ship these days?"

"Don't knock it," said Hunk lightly, but meaning every word. "I'm kinda proud of it. When are you gonna want a ship of your own? I've been doing custom models all year."

"Probably after this, to be honest," said Lance. "You know where we're going?"

"Dropping in on Shay, getting a battleship class crystal if they've got one or hopping to another balmera that does if they don't, and then off to the new Altean planet," said Hunk. "But I thought since I'm _here_ you could show me what you've been up to."

"Sure," said Lance, and led Hunk on what passed for a tour. Hunk wasn't used to a lot of hiking, or full Earth gravity, so there were several stops to catch his breath. There were kids everywhere, and one of them always had something for Hunk to drink. It was remarkable, really - how a place could have so many people and yet not feel busy. "Are you hoping to lure girls back here?" asked Hunk after another flowerbed. "Because I think you might be on to something if you are."

"Not really, no," said Lance. He paused, debating saying something else, and then shrugged. "This place will keep my family going for years to come, at least. They're all my family, by the way. All the kids climbing on your ship and bringing water and all that. Cousins, mostly."

Hunk just stared. "You realize that if my family joined yours, they could probably declare a new country somewhere? I mean yours is bigger, but mine cooks better. Team-up of the century."

Lance grinned at that. "They visit sometimes. I understand some of our techniques have become popular in offworld food gardens. You've gotten famous."

"Not really," said Hunk. "People _in the right places_ know who I am. Everybody else thinks I'm a balmeran who had a bad accident in a rock polisher or something like that." He took a deep breath. He really needed to work on his air purifiers. He'd forgotten what clean planet air could smell like. "Okay. You set?"

"If you'd delayed a lot longer mom would've come out to have words with you," said Lance dryly. "My parents are the ones who have the hardest time with ...you know. The changes. They're happy I'm going back out there."

Hunk's jaw dropped. "Seriously? This is a work of art you've got going here. I should absolutely go have a talk with your parents if -" he stopped, because Lance had grabbed his shirt collar before he could get far.

"No having a talk with my parents, Hunk," said Lance firmly. "They're not ready for it. Trust me on this. Let's just get going and - after that, we'll see, okay?"

Hunk grabbed his shirt back. "Yeah. Okay. Fine. But you gotta at least let me set up a saltwater conduit so your mermaid friends can visit you. Do you have _any_ idea how many calls they've left at HQ for you? Thought not. Well, come on."

Lance led the way back to Hunk's ship - with stops for rest and water - and the ship lifted off smoothly and quietly, barely ruffling the grass. Hunk gave it a good rotational tilt, clockwise and counterclockwise, just to make sure none of Lance's cousins were trying to hide on it, then deactivated the ion shielding and lifted up into the atmosphere. "You know, I bet you'd like a ship meant to explore water worlds," he mused. "Go say hi to mermaids and all. I mean it wouldn't be like Blue, but I could probably get the basics."

Lance gave Hunk a tired sort of smile. "When it's time for me to go, I'll call, okay? Promise."

Hunk wasn't happy, but he let it go. The ship sped out to the asteroid belt, where the balmera munched on the occasional giant rock. Here, too, when Hunk's ship touched down, a crowd was waiting for him. Shay was at the front of it, and when he got off the ship she swept him off his feet in a happy hug. "You are returned!" she said. "We are most happy to have you back, Hunk. Will you be staying this time?"

Hunk hugged her back without reservation, even giving her a light kiss on her cheek. "Just passing through this time, actually. You guys wouldn't happen to have any battleship class crystals? Only there's a world in some dire need, and I promised to find them one."

Lance, who'd stood a bit back from the heartfelt welcome, shook his head. "I can tell you for them, Hunk. This balmera's been working overtime."

The balmerans gave him a very surprised look. "How would you know that?" asked one, and then another leaned in. "Altean markings, but definitely not Altean ears," he said, curious.

"Stop," said Shay. "Do you not recognize Lance, of the Blue Lion and the Red Lion?" But when she turned back to Hunk, she was sadder. "I am afraid your friend is right. The Earth people have come every time a fighter class crystal is ready. We have done as you said and they have given fair value for each, and our balmera is healthy and strong. But I am sorry there is no crystal to spare here for you."

Hunk gawped. "What on Earth could they be doing with _that many_ crystals?" he asked, frowning.

Lance just shook his head. "They're not wrong. I think. The balmera's not sick or dying, not like the first time we came here. But the Garrison's definitely pushing it to produce."

"And they will _back the fuck off_ ," said Hunk, very serious now. "Shay, don't let them wear the balmera out. They don't know how long it takes to grow one of those. You pad the estimates, you hear me? You pad them so your balmera's got time to rest up before making another. Don't let them push you. And if they try to push you anyway you just send me word."

The balmerans took this as sacred instructions, at least as far as Lance could tell. They nodded solemnly, and mostly returned to their caverns. Shay just leaned in to hug Hunk again. "Thank you," she said. "Our balmera is healthy, but we are new to this kind of negotiation. The galra only ever took."

Hunk hugged her fiercely. "Yeah, well. I won't say humans can't be just as bad, but we're not gonna let them be, okay? Now ...I really do need a crystal. D'you know of any balmera that has one to give?"

"We can pay fair value," said Lance quickly. "And it'd just be the one, I think, though Trebi would probably fall over in joy if a balmera would be willing to stay in their system a while."

"Trebi?" asked Shay, confused, and Hunk pointed out the star. "That star there, Shay. That's Trebi. There's some Alteans there who've been without crystals for ten thousand years, and a lot of their archives are going to become dormant soon."

Shay followed his finger, nodded on seeing the star, and frowned in thought. "I think there is a balmera who would come. Alteans are remembered by the balmera. What Allura did for us will never be forgotten." Hunk held out his tablet, and she tapped in some notes carefully with her claw. "This will help you find them."

"Thanks, Shay," said Hunk. "I can hang out some on the return trip, if you're here."

Shay smiled. "I look forward to it."

~*~

Kinkade was on his third datachip, and had set up the tripod because the camera had started digging into his shoulder.

The Queen seemed quite interested in the possibility of joining this new coalition. Her questions, for at least the past few hours, had involved who _else_ had survived - names were given, and sometimes Griffin or one of the others would recognize it. More often they wouldn't, but they repeatedly assured her that didn't _necessarily_ mean the Empire had wiped them out. Earth was still receiving visitors on a weekly basis almost, as races from all over the universe came to see about being part of this new coalition, this new alliance. The Ares pilots had kind of had their own thing going off in a corner, and by no means had met even a fraction of the total.

One thing Grifin couldn't get Orla to budge on, though, was the queen would _not_ make any agreements until she had personally seen this new coalition with her own eyes, and met with the Abyss colonists. She had visited Earth before, although long enough ago that really only her geographic knowledge was still of any use, and she wanted to see what Earth had become, now that it had grown up enough to see the stars.

~*~

Keith was actively avoiding the Trebian televisions.

Trebi had an _interesting_ approach to media. While every room had a media screen, much the way it was on Earth, Trebian screens had two settings. One was to receive the signals from far-away Earth, which felt a bit like time travel because the broadcasts were twenty years out of date. The other was through a media cable, and that was strictly local, Trebian news and entertainments. Trebi did not broadcast, not in any real sense of the word. There were no cell phones, no wi-fi, no portable radios. Trebians were _thorough_ about sending no sign of their presence out into space. There weren't even any fixed outdoor lights, and windows to lighted rooms had to be thoroughly covered so that light didn't get out. Vehicles didn't use lights but very, very short-range signals to navigate at night; a kind of sonar variation that left no trace at any kind of range.

Keith wasn't sure how much of this the Ares pilots had picked up on, but it was making his own team solemn. Trebi had had crystal technology for at least the first thousand years of its forming. But everything Keith and the other Blades had uncovered said that the Trebians had known from the getgo that when their crystals eventually faded, there wouldn't be any more. They'd _planned_ for that. Entire eras of human technological development had been skipped on Trebi, because they made their presence on this planet too easily discerned from space. Trebi had gone from 'far in advance of Earth', to a kind of dark age of torches and stone and underground habitation, and then skipped right over a fair chunk of what on Earth had been the industrial revolution and then the microchip revolution. They'd found alternatives to crystal technology while they had the chance to do so easily, and then spent a good millennium or two transferring what they could and preserving what they couldn't. And only after all that did you start seeing evidence of a 'normal' progression, always paralleled by the advances needed to keep that progression hidden from Imperial scanenrs.

Trebians weren't on par with Earth. They were easily a few centuries ahead of Earth, still. Their system hoppers were at least that far ahead of the tech used in the Kerberos mission. Once they had crystals, they'd easily be able to outmatch the construction that had made the Atlas, although Keith and Acxa weren't sure they'd be able to replicate the Atlas itself. Sam Holt had gone far past what crystals could normally do, with the Atlas, and the crystal that powered it wasn't something that could be copied or grown. Acxa was nevertheless certain that, given a few decades of living out in the open with free access to crystals, Trebi could build a fleet capable of more or less dismantling the Atlas. Not one big ship, but some very fast, very powerful smaller ships. Trebi had known the galra would one day come. They hadn't yet reached a point where their weapons could damage a cruiser without crystals...but _with_ crystals they'd have some pretty respectable firepower.

In other words, as Ezor cheerfully put it, "In about ten decaphoebs we're going to see some fireworks in this part of the universe." The Trebians had had centuries of watching Earth media. They knew how humans thought, how they reacted, how they _felt_. They might not - yet - be entirely up to speed on recent events, but that was even now changing. There would be a crystal relay up soon enough, to catch up to date broadcasts from the Coalition and its many worlds. 

And if Keith was remembering that last, final year before Shiro left with the Kerberos team correctly, within a few months the broadcasts of that would reach Trebi. And the Trebians would see all the lies about pilot error and no there aren't aliens out there really. And then a few more, and Sam Holt trying to get the world to see the danger. It would all be there. He'd advised Griffin not to lie or evade the truth of anything that had been on the news, no matter how bad it made Earth look. The waves were already out there, between Earth and Trebi. The truth would get here soon enough, and it was better in the long term not to add 'liar' to the reasons Trebi had not to be trusting.

In the meantime, the very, very last thing Keith wanted to deal with were reminders of that last year before Kerberos. Not because it had been bad, but because as with all things, it was gone and couldn't ever come back. He wasn't that kid anymore. Shiro wasn't that man anymore. Adam was dead, and all the good things had come to an end a long time ago.

Acxa shook her head at Keith, who was leaning in their room's balcony window, watching the city past the gardens. "There isn't necessarily going to be a war. It's the Empire these people feared. Not Earth."

"Iunno," said Ezor, who _had_ been watching the Earth feeds. "I wouldn't be scared of Earth based on what they've seen lately? But they're _here_ now. That's different. They've made a pretty big leap in the past few decaphoebs. And from what the broadcasts are showing humans really don't have 'slave race' sorted. Sendak really should've done his homework."

Zethrid snorted. "Like he needed to. He had them ready to blow themselves up before Voltron came, and nearly got them to do it even _with_ Voltron blowing up his ships. You remember the AI. If a planet won't bow, you break it. He was going to break Earth just like Zarkon broke Altea."

Keith nodded. "What doesn't bow gets broken," he agreed. "So we now have two races, close enough to each other to see their stars at night, who are the only two that never bowed." He shruged. "Maybe they can get along, though. If we can push them to that, we should."

"They might ally against the galra, though," said Acxa, frowning. "They both have excellent reason to hate us."

"And need us," said Keith. "We've got the only remaining quintessence farms. Just like Earth's got all the teludavs. Our peoples are stronger together. We fight each other and all three races lose."

Ezor nodded to the currently-dark media screen. "That doesn't seem to have stopped Earth, though," she said. "Like...ever. They'll try to take, not trade."

Keith looked at Acxa. "You see why we exist, now?" he asked. "This is what we've been preparing for. It's what we've _always_ got to prepare for."

Acxa did not look happy, but she gave a curt nod. "If an assassination can prevent a war...then an assassin can be honorable."

"Better a few die than thousands," said Keith. "There's always going to be people that push to take instead of trade. If we can find them, keep them out of power...there's room then for peace."

Zethrid shrugged. "This lot aren't looking for a fight yet. They think they know humans. There's no fear here. We might see some opportunists though. Thinking humans are an easy mark."

"And the humans are definitely going to try and keep these people from having crystals," said Ezor. "They're not gonna like that you've gone around them."

"I'm going around them because they'd make the situation very bad for everyone if they tried to treat Shay's balmera as Earth territory," said Keith. "The balmera themselves won't stand for that. So it's better it doesn't get to that point. Hunk agrees."

Acxa said, very quietly, "You'll be able to go back soon. The queen will see us tomorrow. With no more need to hide, we can head back to Earth and the Garrison can use teludavs with system hoppers to take things forward."

Keith just nodded. He knew just where Earth's sun was, even in Trebi's daytime. He had a job to do, and he would do it, but he needed to check on Shiro, too.

~*~

Merisan wasn't particularly expecting Shiro to Decide to be Functional during the hour he waited quietly in Shiro's room. The medic had said this wasn't anything physical. That just left medical, though Merisan wryly wondered if 'magical' were also an option, much as he disliked the word. The world had had some shocks on that front of late, and while Merisan didn't like it and wasn't entirely sure how it fit into his own profession specifically, it would be foolish to deny its reality now.

He did rather hope 'magic' wasn't part of Shiro's problems, though, because he was much too old to start waving a silly wand around now.

The room had settings that caused, in the absence of any interference from Shiro, the ambient light level to rise in accordance with the day outside. At no point did it become too bright to sleep through, but it did allow for walking around without walking into things, and seeing things like whether someone was awake or not. So Merisan could see clearly when Shiro's eyes opened, and fixed on him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Shirogane," said Dr. Merisan, as if this were a normal session and Shiro were properly awake and dressed and so on.

"You can go," said Shiro flatly. "I have enough of a headache as it is."

"I have no doubt, Mr. Shirogane," Merisan agreed mildly. "I am here to see if your days of thinking have led to any questions, or conclusions."

Shiro audibly exhaled, eyes closing. "No," he said flatly. "Nothing you could answer, anyway."

"You may be right," Merisan conceded. "But until you ask, how can we know?"

"...I need to talk to Keith," said Shiro, his tone making it clear that this was a decision he'd come to after an incredible amount of thought, debate, and deliberation. "He's not standing just outside the door, is he?"

Merisan paused. The answer to this would honestly, usually be 'yes'. Whenever he was allowed, Keith would watch from the outer window. But he wasn't allowed to watch sessions except for very specific purposes. And he wasn't there right _now_. The doctors had agreed not to tell Shiro about the discovery of the Altean world on the grounds that Shiro really needed to be working on himself at the moment.

So he had to tell Shiro 'no', but didn't want to do so in a manner that might give the wrong idea. He tried, first, for strict and applicable truth. "I am afraid we do not allow him to observe when a session is going on, Mr. Shirogane. I am here, therefore he would not be allowed to be near. These discussions are between yourself and the doctors in whose care you have placed yourself."

For a moment, Shiro looked disappointed. Or perhaps confused. It wasn't an answer he was expecting, but at the same time he apparently also hadn't realized he had expectations at all. "You record it, though, when you let him in here," he said.

"Yes, Mr. Shirogane," said Dr. Merisan. "We learn from observation. And there is the matter of your health and safety to consider also. You have taken several clear and unambiguous steps to distance yourself from Keith. Although he is currently your advocate, we have done our best to be certain he will do you no harm. Intentionally or otherwise."

"But would you even be able to _tell_?" asked Shiro, and there was audible bitterness there. "That's always the question, isn't it? How much good intentions are really worth?"

Dr. Merisan frowned. He wasn't sure who was speaking just now, which facet. Nor was he certain who was being referred to - Keith, or Shiro himself. That made answering difficult. "Perhaps...define 'worth', Mr. Shirogane?" he tried.

There was silence, and after a bit Merisan began to wonder if Shiro had fallen asleep. Despite appearances, he knew Shiro hadn't slept much the last few days - the internal argument was raging much too loudly for that. "We have to make decisions based on the best intelligence we have at the time," he said very quietly. "Knowing that people may die. People close to us, even. We take risks based on our best assessment of risk versus reward. But none of that really matters, does it. Because no one questions your skill if the risk pays off - and no one forgives you, if it doesn't. But whether the risk pays off or it doesn't, it doesn't affect the moral weight of the decision, does it? It's a good or an evil act regardless of whether it pays off. Tell Keith that. Tell him I want to talk to him."

Merisan paused. He did _not_ want to tell Shiro that it might be several days before Keith returned. Whatever was going on in Shiro's mind, he simply hadn't expected such a request, and he rather suspected none of the other doctors had anticipated it either. He debated suggesting maybe Shiro shower and dress and look like a sane human being first - and that made him realize this _wasn't_ a sane or reasonable request. He wasn't sure why _Keith_ was the lynchpin, though. Why it was Keith's thoughts that mattered to whatever road block Shiro was working on. 

The doctor made a decision. "...I will do so," he said carefully, "when he returns. That may be some time, Mr. Shirogane. I will listen to your concerns if it cannot wait."

Shiro stared at him from his prone position on the bed as if the doctor had just said pigs now had wings and a flock of them was flying over the clinic. "Keith... _left_?"

There was more than shock there. Betrayal? Judgment? _Damn._ Merisan had been right not to want to mention this. Now there was only the hope that the facts might clear up misconceptions. "He was reluctant to go, Mr. Shirogane. But his crew discovered life on a nearby star and required his guidance. And then his crew took a team of pilots from the Garrison to that star to initiate relations. We are told that the people of that star are Alteans. I'm afraid the situation is still unfolding, and so that is all I can say at the present time. He did say before he left that he would return immediately if we were to summon him, and that he was going because he did not think you would forgive him if he did not. Shall I call him, Mr. Shirogane?"

Shiro sat up - and quite the rumpled mess he looked, too, more than a little wild. Running his hand through his hair did almost nothing to tame the tangles. Something in the doctor's words had hit him hard, broken something inside the man. Dr. Merisan found it very troubling that he couldn't begin to guess what it might be, and devoutly hoped the others on the team would have some insight on it. As it was, it seemed the bottom had dropped out of Shiro's world and some internal conflict had started again.

"Mr. Shirogane?" asked Merisan carefully. "Shall I call him?" He was half of a mind to do so regardless, just to find out what on earth was going on in Shiro's mind.

Whatever it was, it was chaotic and of great magnitude, and it made the apparently simple choice of whether or not to call Keith back to Earth an impossible one for Shiro to decide. Shiro started shaking after a few minutes; he wrapped the blanket tightly around himself as if to hide it or force himself still.

Dr. Merisan let himself out. He wasn't sure yet if he'd recommend calling Keith back to Earth. But _calling_ him was definitely going to happen - just as soon as he figured out what to say.


	21. Waking Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the galra visitors have their meeting with the Queen, two more paladins arrive. Nothing quite goes as planned, or expected.
> 
> Apologies in advance to Lance fen.

All balmera were not the same; the people that lived on them were very different, yet all 'balmerans'. And Hunk seemed to be well known and well regarded by all of them. Lance wasn't sure if that was just Hunk being Hunk and the word getting around, or Hunk having actually met and cultivated relationships with each balmera in turn. Given the stuff Hunk created it could be either or both. But they had their battleship-class crystal now, safely secured in what amounted to the back end of Hunk's space jeep. A quick call to Pidge and there was a wormhole directly to the Trebi system.

"Gotta admit, it saves _so_ much time," said Hunk, as they neared the planet. "Been thinking about building one into this ship - you know, save Pidge the trouble - but every time I do I'm reminded of what it's like inside a weblum and it's just this all-over _brrrrr_ , you know?"

"Now that they're being made again, you'd think there'd be people doing it for a living," said Lance. "...You sure you've got the right planet? This one doesn't look like anyone lives on it."

"Yeah, I'm sure," said Hunk, and flipped a few switches. The screen changed colors - and _now_ Lance could see a city that covered a fair chunk of the main continent, like Jupiter's red spot, and the patchwork greens that meant farms surrounding it.

"What the -"

"It's these people," said Hunk. "Keith warned me, so I updated some of my scanners. They've built this whole place to be invisible to galra detection. And about half our stuff uses galra detection as a standard, so if you want to see Trebi, you have to go outside that range."

"Company, Hunk," Lance warned. There were several ships approaching.

"Yeah, they apparently pay attention to that," said Hunk, and opened a channel. "Hey, uh, Alteans? Couple paladins of Voltron here, and a nice big balmera crystal, so if you'd kindly show us where to land and not shoot, we'd appreciate it. Thanks."

Lance had his hand over his mouth now, stifling laughter while Hunk had that channel open. Once he'd done talking, Lance managed, "Never change, man. Never change."

The ships around them evidently didn't know quite what to make of Hunk either. They paused in their courses for a few moments, then formed up in a wedge that quite literally pointed the way down to the huge city below. Hunk took the hint, letting the wedge lead the way. "Not bad," he said, studying the ships as they descended. "Some really solid design there. I look forward to seeing what their engineers do when they've got proper power sources."

~*~

The Ares pilots, had they been on Earth, would have found themselves gently but firmly steered away from caffeinated beverages. Their audience had gone fairly well in that the Trebians were welcoming, and quite interested in this new coalition. It had _not_ gone as planned, however, in that the Trebians refused to sign on to anything until they'd seen the alliance for themselves, and in this the pilots were just a bit twitchy, as their orders had been to secure that agreement. Kinkade was the calmest, and that was really because he had quite a lot of footage to go through before Keith could send it back to Earth.

Keith had sent Ezor to go watch for Lance and Hunk, because he knew when she was in an evil mood and frankly, Lance and Hunk would be better equipped to handle it than the Ares pilots. If only because Ezor knew Lance and Hunk _could_ probably kill her if it came down to it. Ezor could be odd that way. "Sometimes you can't follow orders to the letter," he said, hoping it helped. "Nobody really knew what we'd find here."

"I would like to see their underground city," said Leifsdotter. "Or is it abandoned?"

"Ezor said there's people there, still," said Zethrid. "That's where they do the stuff it's hard to hide on the surface. Lot of power plants and stuff down there. You can probably get a tour if you want to, she said there's really not a lot of security."

Griffin was sprawled out on a couch, eyeing the ceiling as if he was expecting a reprimand to drop out of it. "I guess I should be glad we didn't start a war. You took a hell of a risk going intel gathering at a diplomatic meeting, Keith."

Keith shrugged. "I know what my crew can do," he said. "Ezor's gotten past much better security than anything on this planet. And...you needed to know."

" _That's_ true," sighed Rizavi. "I mean we really don't know a whole lot about the Trebians. Not compared to what they know about us. And will know soon."

"It's fascinating," mused Leifsdotter. "To think that our television and radio signals are just floating out in the universe. That you can _tune into_ them."

"Being fair," Kinkade chipped in from his editing, "their signal decryption and all that is beyond anything we could've expected. Watch the signals and you'll see gaps we never put there - presumably because some big rock or other got in the way along the trip. Their records are good, but not perfect."

"More than enough to get a really good idea what we're like, though," sighed Griffin. "Like our entire species has spent the past four or five centuries doing a striptease for the universe and _just now_ found out people were taking pictures."

"Not like it's stopped you though, eh?" said Zethrid, almost laughing. "I mean you know we're out here now, and you're _still doing it_."

That stopped all four pilots as they thought that over. "...I'm pretty sure that's going to change after the Garrison gets our report," Griffin decided.

"Probably," said Keith. "Won't change what's already in the ether though. But Hunk and Lance are on their way. Two more paladins to take some of the pressure off you guys."

"I thought we did pretty well," said Rizavi, defensive. 

"We did," agreed Griffin. "As well as anyone could do, anyway. Why are your friends coming?"

"Coran wants to study the archives," said Keith. "But their crystal's almost faded out, and he doesn't want to be responsible for a shutdown. I put a call in to Hunk to bring one for them. Good will gesture. Lance is coming along because he's curious." Like hell was he going to try explaining the complexities of Lance's current existence to these four. Not if Lance didn't even feel up to sharing it with the other paladins. "They're not likely to ask to talk to the queen, but she might decide she wants to talk to them anyway."

"Great," sighed Griffin. "Because what we really needed right now were two more wrenches in the works."

Keith's eyes narrowed. "I realize you're used to thinking of Voltron as being a kind of Earth thing, because the paladins are mostly humans, but the rest of the universe doesn't see us that way. You've got nothing to worry about. Once the Trebians are clear that they're _paladins_ , they're on an entirely different scale. _Your_ job here won't change or be affected."

Acxa just...nodded. "Lotor tried to claim Voltron for the Galra," she said. "It did not go well. Not for him, not for Voltron. Voltron is _Voltron_. It is not Garrison, or Earth."

"Moot point anyway," said Rizavi. "Since it's gone."

Keith didn't respond to that, but he did notice Acxa studying him thoughtfully.

~*~

Nothing medically wrong. It was both reassuring and not.

The doctors had gathered with coffee, and a few trays of wholly unknown finger-foods sent up by the kitchen. The chef Hunk had sent had arrived, and apparently won control of the clinic's menu. It was, however, fairly early in the morning. The doctors clutched their cups of coffee like shields. There was only so much New they could cope with before caffeine, and Shiro's condition was occupying all of it.

Pender, as the generally acknowledged leader of the group, spoke first. "It seems we've hit an unexpected crossroads. I trust you've all seen the footage of the latest session."

"If we can't find a solution," said Dr. Brice, "We will need to call Keith back." She paused. "No. Let me reprhase that. If we can't find a solution Keith will come back whether we wish it or not, and under that circumstance I strongly advise no one stand in his way."

"Was _not_ inclined to," said Schlessinger mildly. "So the question then is - can we find a solution? Can we even define the _problem_?"

Merisan, who had the glassy eyed look of a man who was up this early because he hadn't been to bed yet, was sucking down coffee as a kind of lifeline. "I... _think_ I may understand the problem. The base Shirogane and Ryou aspects have reached an impasse obvious enough that outside corroboration is required."

"So you believe his comments to you were reflecting his current mental dilemma?" asked Pender. "Is there some reason we are unable - or perhaps in his mind _unqualified_ \- to assist?"

"We weren't there," said Merisan. "Whatever it is on his mind, Keith was very likely present for the decision or at least in the direct path of the fallout. I can think of no other reason the Ryou aspect would require his presence."

Brice frowned. "Speaking of...has Ryou shown any signs of changing his position?"

Merisan blinked a bit blearily at her. "Regarding Keith? I could not say. _Something_ has changed. He may resent Keith's protective hovering, but it seems clear enough he did _expect_ it. And does not seem to have a solution for how to parse its absence."

"That's going to make the next stages difficult," said Pender dryly. "If he wants Keith both present and absent. Acknowledging the man has skills, I doubt being in two places at the same time is one of them." He turned to Brice. "I think we should request Keith's return. As you say he's quite likely to do so anyway. Making it a request at least removes concerns about permission or consequence. I think, gentlemen, we are lost at sea. Until Mr. Shirogane is willing to _say_ what he is thinking, we can only attempt to work with his request and see what we can learn."

"You're calling him," said Brice firmly. "I treat him independently of his relationship, insofar as that is possible."

"I believe all you will need to do is give him Mr. Shirogane's message," said Merisan, getting up. "Whether it makes sense to him or not, he will come. Excuse me, but I believe caffeine has reached the limit of its efficacy. I'll be on the couch in my office. Knock before at least four hours have passed and this building had better be under attack."

After he'd gone, Schlessinger mused, "I've always wondered how he managed to acquire that much scarring."

Dr. Pender said, soft but firm, "Continue wondering. He has very good reasons for not volunteering it."

"So you know, then?" asked Brice.

"I hired him," said Dr. Pender. "So yes. He is an excellent point man for Mr. Shirogane. Leave it at that."

~*~

Hunk parked his ship in the field where he saw Keith's ship and some system hoppers. "Seems kind of a hike," he frowned. "But there's probably a reason."

Lance stepped out after Hunk did, blinking. "...There's definitely alchemists around here," he said. 

"Among other things," said the empty air cheerily, and then Ezor let go of her camoflage. "The old guy's on his way, but it's a hike and he's out of breath. You'll meet your escort on the way."

As she bounced along toward the city, leaving the two paladins to fall in behind her or get left, Hunk said, "You know, as paranoid as they are, I was expecting people to be here already."

"The people that would be here are busy with the MFE pilots," said Ezor, setting a brisk pace. "Keith sent me to guide you, but Coran caught me on the way to tell me you two have to go to the plaza of lions first. I hope you brought painkillers."

"You know, I have never yet had a friendly welcome that needed me to pack aspirin," said Hunk doubtfully.

"It's the test," said Lance. "Keith already warned me. This 'plaza of lions' is how they know we're paladins without our Lions or bayards. He said it hurt, and he thought maybe it was because it was a test created by people that had never actually met any of the old paladins."

"Oh, _that's_ reassuring," said Hunk, audibly rethinking this whole 'visit some new people' idea. "And Coran's on board with this? I thought Alteans didn't go in for _palen bol_."

Lance could only shrug. "I think it may not be meant to hurt?" he offered. "We'll know soon. Maybe we can tweak it."

"What, _after_ it puts the hurt on?" asked Hunk. "There's some bad design going on here."

Ezor had led them almost to the edge of the city outskirts before Coran, panting and out of breath and clearly having tried to _run_ the distance, caught up to them. The hug he bestowed on Hunk was half collapse. "I'm so glad you could make it, boys," he said, blithely ignoring that 'boy' didn't really apply to either man anymore. "This planet's really something isn't it? And the royal family are Allura's cousins!"

Lance froze mid-stride, eyes wide. "Waitwhat?"

"Oh yes," Coran nodded happily. "They trace their lineage back to Allura's mother's sister. You saw the castleship coming in, right? That's what they want me to help fix, you did bring a crystal right, Hunk?" Abruptly his demeanor switched from happiness to concern.

"Yeah, man, we brought you a crystal," said Hunk, keeping an eye on Lance who seemed to have hit some kind of mental bluescreen where he wasn't sure if he should be walking into the city or back to the ship. "If you think I'm _carrying_ it from that field to the castle, though, I gotta tell you your reality is interesting but I'm not moving there." He reached out a hand to grab Lance's. "It's okay, Lance. Let's...let's go get this paladin test thing over with."

"Yes, Princess Elena's waiting in the plaza," nodded Coran, completely oblivious to Lance's shock. "I may move here, just so you know. Closer to Earth, and there's so much to _do_."

Lance didn't seem to want to move, neither onward nor back, but Hunk managed to tug him into motion. "It's gotta be generations of difference," he tried. "It'll be okay man. She doesn't know you from Adam wait that might - look, just tell me what'd help, okay?"

"Shhh," Lance hissed, but without any intensity - like this world and everything in it had just become very much a secondary concern to something else. Something else so important it was taking all his attention. Hunk, frowning, tugged Lance in Coran and Ezor's wake.

"Look Coran, I'm glad you're happy - really - but I think I missed some parts of the debriefing if there was one, so if you can catch me up..."

Coran shook his head. "All the meetings have gone really well that I've heard," he said. "The queen is a very nice woman, so is her daughter. Very welcoming. They've been watching Earth television so they're much more used to humans than Allura or I were. And that's the plaza of lions, there. The princess is the one on the robot horse."

Hunk found himself studying the horse more than the princess. Ornamental, certainly, but probably a lot more comfortable than an actual horse to ride. The rider looked a little like Allura, if you were actually _looking_ for a resemblance, but he wouldn't have pegged her as Allura's cousin if Coran hadn't said she was. His attention was quickly diverted to the large lion statues around the plaza. "...Okay, so, exactly what it says on the tin..." He looked back at Lance, who he was still leading by the hand. "...I guess I better go first. Coran, hang on to Lance a tick?"

The princess nodded toward Hunk and Lance as they neared. "Be welcome to Trebi. The galra paladin has said that you two are also paladins, but as we tested him we will also test the two of you. Pass, and the most heartfelt of welcomes will be -" she paused. Her eyes narrowed at Lance. "...Is that human also of Altean blood?"

Hunk looked at Lance, realized there was still a bluescreen going on, and said, "No, ma'am. He's human. Allura just - I mean Princess Allura - left him a present before she left us. That's all."

Elena looked like 'Altean markings' did not qualify as a 'present'. But she gestured to the plaza. "There is a place marked in the center. Stand there, and your test begins."

Hunk didn't budge until Coran took Lance's hand, because he wasn't going to let Lance get cloud-cuckoo-landed lost in an alien city even if they looked perfectly friendly. He knew very well that looks could deceive. He didn't like the idea of pain, but someone had to go first and Lance was in his own little world, so he made himself walk to the center of the plaza, and stand on the little brass marker. He almost jumped out of his skin when one of the lion statues roared, and got down from its pedestal to pad over to him. 

Keith hadn't been joking. It felt like those statue claws were inside his brain, digging. Meeting the Yellow Lion. The first flight in the cockpit. Backing up Lance against the galra fighters. Every memory of flying Yellow, of being part of Voltron, was clawed at. He barely noticed the lion circling him, until the memories stopped and the statue-lion went back to its pedestal.

Hunk, never one to stand on ceremony when this fucked up, vomited onto the plaza stone. He was retching for at least a minute after his stomach ran out of contents to upchuck. "Okay," he gasped faintly. "Next time Keith says bring the painkillers...not going to argue it."

"Be welcome to Trebi, Paladin of Voltron," said Elena, and that was apparently the cue for several Alteans to step forward - some gave Hunk a supportive hand back to Lance, others cleaned up the mess.

"...Lemme get back to you on that," said Hunk faintly, and looked worriedly over to Lance. "...You good, man? It's...it's your turn." His tone was doubtful. Lance really didn't look in any shape for this kind of brain-raking. But if this was how these people chose to be friendly, he wasn't sure _unfriendly_ was a good thing to go for. He was just about to tell the princess that no, really, Lance was going to take a pass on this, maybe tomorrow, when Lance let go of Coran's hand and walked on his own to the center of the plaza.

Hunk thought he had an idea how the test was set up, and was expecting one, _maybe_ two of the statues to react. Three lions roared. Three lions jumped down from their pedestals.

Rather than any reaction of pain, the Altean marks on Lance's face started to glow. With the kind of distant expression people wore when doing one thing while thinking about something else, Lance petted one enamelled mane and then another. The three remaining lions did not roar, but did come down off their pedestal for pets. Just for a few moments, and then they returned to their places. Then two of the initial three returned to theirs. Then the final lion statue returned to its place, and the marks on Lance's face returned to normal.

He didn't cry out. There was no sign of pain, or even awareness. He just dropped to the stone like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Hunk didn't waste time. _Furious_ , he ran to the plaza to check on Lance, hand already moving to the compact blaster he carried for safety. "Okay lady, princess, whatever, you can stuff your welcome until you tell me _what the hell just happened_." Fingers moved to check for pulse. Okay, good, still alive. 

Coran, alarmed and confused, ran into the plaza to get between Hunk and the Princess. "Stop, Hunk!" he called, worried. "Stop! This isn't _her_ doing. They didn't act like that around you or Keith!"

"And they should not have done that for this paladin either," said Princess Elena, calmly getting off her horse. She waved the guards - who were taking Hunk's blaster _very_ seriously - back. "Holster your weapons," she ordered them. "They are paladins of Voltron."

And Elena was their princess, and Hunk had a blaster pointed squarely at her while his other arm carefully picked Lance up. "And your 'welcome' could use some work, lady," he said with a calm that just made the anger in it ring more loudly. 

The princess approached steadily, hands raised to show she carried no weapon. "Allow me to make amends," she said. "I think your friend just fixed our test." 

Hunk did not lower his gun, but he did let Elena approach and touch Lance's face. "So...so he's like Allura was, then?" he asked warily. "Alchemist?"

"I'm really not sure," said Elena, frowning in concentration. "There's power here, but - ah, there we go."

Hunk couldn't see her doing anything, but the tension in Lance's face relaxed. "What did you just do?"

"Whatever he is, he overexerted himself," said Elena, pulling back. "Please put that away. I mean neither of you any harm. I am sure my mother will want to talk with you both, but this ...is not the welcome either of you deserved." She turned back to her guards. "Bring a carriage. They will ride the rest of the way. Tell the staff to prepare rooms."

The guards withdrew, but Coran stayed, giving Hunk a hand in carrying Lance out of the plaza. "I'm...I'm really sorry," he said. "I hope there's no lasting harm."

"Coran," said Elena, and Hunk was surprised at the affection in her tone, "There is no lasting harm. I promise you. They will both be fine by this evening if not sooner. What your friend did to our plaza, now, that may take more time to discover. We've lost a lot of our skills, since the days when those lions were built and tuned."

Hunk frowned, but put away his blaster. "No kidding," he said sourly.

~*~

Keith wasn't entirely sure what to make of this queen. On the one hand, Queen Orla clearly had to work at it to even appear at ease around a group of galra. On the other...well, frankly, everyone else he dealt with was just as uneasy, and usually didn't try to make as much of an effort to hide it.

"So...you are all part galra, but not from the same world," said Orla slowly. "How did you come to meet?"

Acxa stepped in before Ezor could cheerfully inform the queen that they'd been trying to kill each other. "Keith saved my life in the body of a weblum, your majesty. Ezor and Zethrid and I met while serving in the Imperial military; we were all facing the same problems, which were that as impure galra, we would never be trusted or given any kind of responsibility."

"And now you are all part of this 'blade of marmora'," said the queen slowly.

Keith let the rather huge skip in events slide, because he really didn't want to try explaining Lotor to anyone as part of an introduction. "Yes. The Blade began as an attempt to sabotage the Empire from within. Now that the Empire is gone, the Blades bring aid to any world that needs it."

"Yeah, we've been flying seeds and rations and cold weather kits and water purifiers all over several galaxies," said Ezor. "In _this_ galaxy we're mostly finding resources on uninhabited worlds, which is how we found you guys."

The queen looked chagrined. "Ten thousand years of hiding from the empire, and a cruiser finds us almost at once," she said.

"Actually no, your majesty," said Acxa. "Your world appeared uninhabited to all our scanners. Ezor's just very observant, and your system hoppers had left trails in the space dust. I've served on enough imperial cruisers to know that most generals would have dismissed her findings and left you alone."

"I suppose that is to the general good," said the queen. "That we are found only after the Empire is dismantled. I understand you carried our human friends here. Will you be carrying them home again?"

"Probably not," said Keith. "Now that they're here, we'll set up a crystal relay so they can talk to Earth in real time, and return to our work. The galra are part of the new coalition, so when you're ready to go to Earth to join them, you can meet with the Daibazaal delegates there."

"So you are just...traders who happened to be in the right place at the right time, is that it?" asked the queen. "A paladin of Voltron and his crew?"

Acxa looked to be on the verge of telling the queen that Keith was as close to galra royalty as existed anymore, but a quick glare from Keith stopped that in its tracks. "Yes, your majesty," she said quietly. "We'll be off your planet soon."

"I've sent word to the other paladins," Keith said. "Your daughter's gone to meet them, I'm told. They'll have a crystal for your castle. And they can recall us if we're needed here again, until your systems are restored and you can do so yourself. We'll give you our transponder code."

"So the galra seek nothing from us," said the queen. "Nothing at all?"

"We'd prefer not to be shot at if you don't mind," said Ezor. "I mean you didn't hurt our ship, but it's the thought that counts."

"And you?" the queen asked Zethrid, who'd kept her mouth shut on the fairly wise and accurate assumption that she wasn't much good at these delicate sorts of encounters. "There is nothing you would say?"

Zethrid gave this due consideration. "Where d'you want your crystal relay?" she asked at last.

The queen blinked. "...Right now?"

"Yeah," said Zethrid. "I mean we've got things to do, places to be. We just gave the humans a ride, we're not diplomats. We'll set up a crystal relay in your system, and the Garrison can use that as coordinates for wormhole entrances and exits, and to broadcast news more recent than twenty decaphoebs ago. I'm guessing you don't want it in your planet's orbit though. So. Where do you want it? We'll set it up before we take off."

"You'll be able to use your castle as a relay tower for your city, once the relay's up," Keith agreed. "But since it'll also be a traffic point...probably you don't want it too close to your planet."

"I see," said the queen. "That is interesting. I think -"

But what she thought was lost, as a younger Altean, probably a court page, ran in to deliver a message. The galra watched Queen Orla's ears twitch as she listened. "I'll have coordinates delivered shortly," she said. "For now, it seems two more Paladins have arrived. With a balmeran crystal. And may possibly have broken our plaza of lions." She gestured to the page. "This page will lead you to where your companions are being quartered."

Keith, understanding this to mean any kind of formal audience was at an end - and good thing, because he wanted to be sure Hunk and Lance had survived that plaza - immediately followed the child out of the hall, leaving Acxa, Ezor and Zethrid to catch up or be left behind.

~*~

Although Hunk was in no mood to appreciate it, Lance was treated with all the care and respect the Trebians could offer. He and Hunk were given rooms by the galra, presumably because of Keith being a paladin too, and there were little refreshing cups of juice that were somewhere between lychee and watermelon waiting for him, and sandwiches that looked suspiciously similar to peanut butter and jelly, which might just be all they could throw together in a hurry. Hunk oversaw the Alteans laying the unconscious Lance out on a bed with an expression just short of thunderous second degree murder, but he didn't take his temper out on them.

Keith caught the full brunt of it when he came in. "You could've warned us!" he snapped. "You told Lance to bring painkillers, but that was _way the fuck beyond painkillers!_ I thought they were gonna try and arrest us when the lions went haywire. What did you ask him here for? What were you hoping for? It _better_ not have been this, Keith."

Keith stood quite still and let Hunk rant, although this involved reaching out with both hands to stop Ezor and Acxa from making Hunk back off. He stood there, in silence, and let Hunk rage at him until the man was entirely out of breath and new things to be angry about. When silence had reigned for a good four seconds, he said, "Did Lance ever tell you why he was living on a farm?"

"...No," said Hunk, frowning. He'd snarled himself hoarse; he picked up one of the cups of juice and sampled it. "Hn." 

"I'll let him explain that to you, then," said Keith. "But I asked him to come here because after Allura left, he's had to figure some things out by himself. With nothing to serve as a guide. There are _alchemists_ here, Hunk. Maybe not on par with Alfor or Allura, but there are mystic Alteans here. People like Allura. People that can maybe help Lance get his life back. I didn't know he'd react to the plaza that way or I'd have kept him clear of it. I thought it'd just be a headache, like it was for me."

"So...all that garden farm thing he's been doing is because something's _wrong_?" asked Hunk. "And he didn't say?"

"Because you and Pidge are so enthusiastically open minded about Altean magic," Keith all but drawled.

"Okay, point," Hunk sighed. "Fine. I've got the crystal relay for these people in my ship. Are you guys leaving? Before Lance wakes up?"

Keith winced. "Yeah probably," he said. "If I could help Lance I would, but I don't know what to do with what he's got going on. These Alteans have enough to deal with with humans knowing where they live, it's still kind of soon to ask most of them to be happy about a bunch of galra too. We'll head back and let them come out when they're ready."

"...Fair enough," Hunk conceded. "But there's a message waiting for you on the private network. Something to do with Shiro, I'm guessing, since it's from the clinic."

"What?" Keith froze.

"It's keyed to you, but all the consoles flash when there's messages," said Hunk. "Since they're stationary. You can receive and answer at any of them. Mine, yours, anyone's. I thought you knew, and that was why you were going to head back. But your reasons work too."

"Convey our regrets to the queen then," said Acxa firmly. "We will _definitely_ be leaving now."


	22. One Step Away From Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard to write. I devoutly hope it isn't painful (in the bad way) to read.

The generals found themselves sprinting to keep up with Keith. Since the Alteans seemed to regard transportation as being for people who _couldn't_ hike it, or who had things to transport, he skipped any question of getting one and just ran the distance instead. Keith outdistanced the others by the time he'd reached the outskirts of the city; it was an open guess as to whether it was due to Keith's worry over Shiro, or just humans being better marathon runners. When his crew caught up to him at the field, he had already gotten into Hunk's ship and taken out the crystal relay. 

While they caught their breath, sprawled on the grass in a way they would never, ever do if there were witnesses, Keith used the console on Hunk's ship to play the message.

Dr. Pender's face filled the screen. "Good...day, I would guess it to be," he began. "I do not wish to alarm or concern you unduly, but Mr. Shirogane has asked to speak with you. We have given him the outline of recent events and why you were not here, and it does not appear to be an _emergency_ as such. Nevertheless, as soon as you are able to return without compromising the duties that took you into space in the first place, we would ask that you do so." He paused. "Mr. Shirogane has asked us to relay a message to you. In the interest of strictest accuracy, I am forwarding the audio of his comments. I am afraid we do not have any context for them, and if you should happen to have any, we would appreciate enlightenment. Here is his message."

> _"We have to make decisions based on the best intelligence we have at the time, knowing that people may die. People close to us, even. We take risks based on our best assessment of risk versus reward. But none of that really matters, does it. Because no one questions your skill if the risk pays off - and no one forgives you, if it doesn't. But whether the risk pays off or it doesn't, it doesn't affect the moral weight of the decision, does it? It's a good or an evil act regardless of whether it pays off. Tell Keith that. Tell him I want to talk to him."_

Keith frowned at the screen as it darkened. He had no more answers than the therapists did as to why Shiro would send him such a message. He could only theorize that it was something weighing on Shiro's mind, and there were several events Keith could think of where Shiro had made a risky call. He could think of more than a few calls of his own, too, so he couldn't really say whether the event was a choice of Shiro's, or a choice of his own.

But he wasn't hurt. Shiro wasn't frightened or upset. That took a lot of the _must protect mate_ instincts out of the equation and let Keith _think_.

Not that this helped a whole lot. He still wasn't sure what Shiro _meant_. If he was talking about himself or about Keith, about something now or something in the past. Shiro was good at absolutes; Keith tended to need context. Unless that was what Shiro was talking about?

No. He wasn't going to help the situation by driving himself nuts. Very consciously, Keith set the message aside. He'd talk to Shiro about it when he got there and Shiro could answer. He shut the console down and got out of Hunk's ship. The others sat up, doing almost feline impersonations of 'me? out of breath? you must be joking', which Keith politely ignored.

"Next stop, Earth?" asked Acxa, getting to her feet. 

"Yeah," Keith nodded. "But we can set up the crystal relay first. It doesn't seem to be urgent."

Zethrid got to her feet next. "Let's get on that. These little Alteans keep looking at me like they're waiting for me to smash their windows in."

"Well. You _would_ ," said Ezor, patting her on the arm.

"Sure I would," said Zethrid, offended at the idea of anyone thinking otherwise. "I mean they keep _waiting_ for me to, might as well get it over with, right?"

Keith smiled a bit. "Been there, tried that, it didn't work," he said. "Come on. One crystal relay and this becomes Earth's problem for a while."

~*~

Lance opened his eyes on an unfamiliar ceiling, in an unfamiliar room, and had enough space experience to add 'unfamiliar planet' to the list.

"Good," said Hunk from off to one side, just out of his field of vision. "I told that princess if you didn't wake up she was gonna have a problem. Guess I owe her an apology."

Lance tried sitting up, and discovered his skull had been dipped in lead. "Ow. Okay. Do I want to ask what happened?"

"...I was kinda hoping you could tell me," said Hunk, worried again. "Apparently you broke their statues or something. You were supposed to have two, maybe three of the lions poke at you. All six got down to get petted, which by the way is what you did. You don't remember anything?"

Lance laid back down. "Maybe," he decided. "Trying not to ask too much of my brain right now." He poked, very carefully, at memory. "I remember someone saying the royal family's related to Allura?"

"Uh. That was before the test," said Hunk. "You did go kinda spacy at that point, though. You don't remember anything after that?"

What Lance really remembered was Allura taking a sudden _very keen_ interest in the world around Lance at that point. She'd felt far more present, more _there_ , than at any time since ...well, since she'd _left_. And then things had kind of gone dark. Or, not _dark_ , but moved very far away, like trying to follow the plot of a television program two rooms away. And now he didn't sense Allura at all, which was just as worrying in a different way. Whatever she'd done, it had cost her more than it had cost him, and that was most worrying of all.

Hunk waiting for an _explanation_ of all this was somewhere near the bottom of the list. Not quite the _very_ bottom, because he did get that this probably looked really weird from the outside (hell, it didn't look a lot better from the _inside_ ), but pretty far down there. So he settled for a quiet, "Not really, no. Uh. We're not under arrest or anything, are we? Cos if we are, I'm really sorry about that."

"No," said Hunk, quietly unhappy. "Lance...if something's _wrong_...you know you can just say, right?"

Lance stared up at the alien ceiling and debated the merits of ever telling Keith things for a few minutes. Keith at least had a frame of _reference_. Lance didn't have any way to tell Hunk squat that didn't sound very, very bad. Not that he thought Hunk was the type to dive for the bell, book, and candle - but he could get very Firm when he thought something was a bad idea. Still. Now he had Hunk staring at him like a puppy who'd been told No More Walkies Ever, and there weren't a whole lot of people that could withstand that for long. "...You do realize there's like, a lot of magic and Altean weirdness involved in that, right?"

"Yeah. And _you_ ," said Hunk firmly. "You're my friend. You get that, right? I will _make room_ for the weird. You just gotta tell me. Like, maybe next time, _before_ I bite Keith's head off for possibly killing you. As an example."

Oh. Yeeeah, that ...yeah. Lance let his eyes close and exhaled, relaxing into the bed for the moment. "Allura's not dead, Hunk. I think Allura was in the plaza."

Hunk thought about this a while. In a careful, remembering-he-promised-not-to-dismiss-the-magic-and-also-not-freak-out tone, he asked, "So...Allura's... _with_ you, sort of?"

"Heavy on the 'sort of', but yeah," said Lance. "A part of her. Like I'm a bookmark she left to find her way back while she's...wherever she is." Soon, hopefully.

"So she's coming back someday then," said Hunk, nailing down the important part first. "Right? She's coming _back_?"

"That's more in the realm of 'hope' than anything I'm sure of," Lance admitted tiredly. "I see things. Hear things. Not just Allura, either. Making me her bookmark meant she gave me a little of her...magic, I guess. Only I'm not an alchemist. So suddenly everything is bigger, brighter, louder, and I can't turn any of it off or turn it down, so-"

"So, farm," Hunk nodded. "I get it. I think. I mean yes, _magic_ , but also I get it." He sounded relieved. "But she's not dead. She's coming back. And you told Keith, and he told you to come here - okay. I think I'm up to speed now. Is this planet easier on you than Earth?"

"Aside from the bout of major spacy in the plaza?" asked Lance. "Yeah, but that could be because whatever Allura did wore her out. It's always easier to deal with the world when she's worn herself out."

"That's ...not good," frowned Hunk. "I mean. Are we telling the royal family any of this? Would they understand? It's their family, right, Allura's their cousin."

"If she wants them to know," said Lance firmly, "I have zero doubt she can make herself heard. They're Alteans, right? Alchemists?" 

"The queen and her daughter are, definitely," said Hunk. "White hair and everything. Think I saw white hair here and there in the people along the way, too. The colony, this isn't. They haven't been bent on preserving, they've been focused on surviving and evolving. Probably picking up our TV broadcasts helped there, too. These people know _all_ about milkshakes."

Lance couldn't help but laugh at that. "Well. I guess we'll fit right in then."

"Coran certainly has," said Hunk. "You haven't seen much of him lately. I'm guessing because you're the only one tuned into Radio Allura. He's been really...faded, the past few years. Like he was just waiting to die because there wasn't anything left to live for. Meeting Allura's cousins has definitely given him a new lease on life. Which reminds me, I need to actually get started on getting that crystal installed in this castle. You gonna stay here a bit? What's the plan?"

Lance shrugged. "Probably get up and wander around until someone decides to talk," he said. "It's a castleship, someone's bound to do that pretty soon."

Hunk nodded slowly. "Okay. Well. I'm going to leave you my blaster, then. And you're going to keep it hidden unless these Alteans turn out to be unfriendly." He took it out and showed Lance the extra button in the base of the grip. "This button here sends an emergency alert to all the consoles. If these people _aren't_ on our side, they won't touch me until they've got their crystal in place. But _you_ , after that plaza stunt, they'd want to keep you under control. So if they try it, you just press that and the cavalry'll be on its way."

Lance sat up to take the blaster, studying it. Definitely a Hunk original, this gun, but _very_ servicable. "The button's covered."

"Wouldn't want the emergency button to get pressed because you sat on it wrong, would you?" shrugged Hunk. "It's quick to remove, but won't come off by accident."

Lance turned it over in his hands a few times before hiding it under the blankets. "When did you get so..." he wasn't going to say _paranoid_ because Pidge had the lock on that. "Careful?"

"I've been flying alone to a lot of places for a lot of years now," said Hunk. "It's not like when Voltron was here and we had our lions that came when we needed them. I remember what Allura told us - that it was up to people now, to make the universe safe. But Rolo and Nyma aren't the only conmen in the universe. I give people the benefit of the doubt and I help as much as I can, but people only get to cross me once, and I never go in blind. I'm gonna go deal with that crystal thing now. You rest. I got your back."

~*~

"I realize your friends are used to doing exactly what they want, when they want," snarled the general, "But this isn't wartime and there are _procedures_."

Pidge smiled. "General. There _are_ procedures. You're just not aware of where they don't apply."

"The lions are gone, Commander Holt," growled General Hutchins. "You are no longer paladins of Voltron, because there is no Voltron."

"Yeah, that would be where you're wrong, general," said Pidge. She kept her tone light, but anyone that knew her would have heard the timer ticking down. "You don't get to define what a Paladin of Voltron is or isn't, you see. No one on this planet does. And it's only revokable by being Zarkon levels of evil. Flying to another planet without your personal permission is so far from Zarkon levels of evil that if you try taking this to the Coalition representatives you're going to be there all afternoon trying to explain why you're upset, and I'm betting they're _still_ not going to get it. General, Lance is a Paladin of Voltron. He's done nothing, not one thing, to make anyone else in the Coalition _doubt_ that he's still a Paladin. Very much the opposite. His work is highly respected on Altea, which is pretty much the gold standard for defining who does and doesn't deserve to be called a Paladin. And it turns out our new friends on Trebi have tests to see who's flown a Lion, which Lance passed with such levels of flying colors that it's possible they're going to build shrines in his honor." She smiled her brightest 'fuck you' smile. "I mean. If you _want_ to make a stink about him leaving Earth without telling you, you can. But my advice would be not to, because all that will happen is you'll be very, very embarrassed on a very, very large scale."

"Are they going to do this with the Voltron-2 pilots too?" demanded Hutchins. "We don't need to be starting cargo cults across six galaxies."

Pidge shrugged. "Voltron is held in the regard it is because of what it's done, general. What its paladins have done. So I suppose it's down to how well you pick your pilots. I know _you_ want soldiers who'll obey orders. I'm sure the rest of the Garrison brass would like that, too. But if you aim for soldiers, then all you've got with this work I've done is a weapon, general. Nobody builds shrines to weapons." She paused. "They do sometimes build shrines to the people killed by them. Food for thought."

The general glared at Pidge as if fantasizing about court martials. He wasn't going to do that, though, and both he and Pidge knew why. Just as she was part of the Garrison to keep an eye on it, so the Garrison viewed keeping her on as a way to at least have a weather gauge for what the wildcard paladins might do. Unlike the others she was willing to stay where the Garrison could see her, at least. "Would you at least tell your _friend_ to drop us a line next time he wants to go taking citizens of Earth off on joyrides?"

Pidge blinked. "I'll tell him, general," she said, and didn't bother hiding the laugh in her voice. "But you've seen Keith's records. Do you really think there's an authority out there whose opinion he cares about?"

This time Hutchins' intake of breath was almost a growl. "One, yes," he said. "And how _is_ our 'hero' faring?"

"That I'm not actually sure of," Pidge admitted, the smile fading. "From my observations he's not having flashbacks anymore. On the other hand spending whole days in bed without combing his hair or taking a shower isn't what I'd call an improvement. I wouldn't suggest sending him any orders, general. I'm good at probabilities but I can't begin to calculate how he'd take a communique from the Garrison right now."

~*~

The trip home was something of a blur, above and beyond the wormhole part of it. Keith was almost getting used to the pull, the need to be near Shiro, to be able to check on him. It was kind of like being a planet, circling its sun.

The cruiser was parked on the dark side of the moon, where the main lunar base for the Garrison was being constructed. Keith took the Fang from there to the house - he wasn't going to take the ship, but Kosmo couldn't teleport _all_ of them. Probably. Yet. And the others insisted that this time, they were coming along. They'd mind the house, protect it, explore Earth a bit, but Acxa had made it clear that they were done doing missions without him. So everyone packed into the Fang, and Keith parked that at the house and let Kosmo take him the rest of the way to the clinic.

Dr. Pender met him at reception very quickly, though he looked like he could use a cup of coffee. He brought Keith within the security doors, and said quietly, "You may not enjoy seeing your friend today. The situation is...well. A little peculiar. We have had some difficulty deciding on a course of action, but we are in agreement that granting his request was a necessary step."

Keith frowned. "You're not helping. Just _tell_ me."

Dr. Pender took a deep breath. Hall, elevator. "I believe we need to show you. All we can tell you is the man is wrestling with something. Has been wrestling with it for days. And we suspect it is the difference between what he saw as a clone, and what he saw before that. Trying, we _think_ , to pinpoint what Haggar influenced. But we don't know. He has refused to speak to us."

Keith stopped mid-stride. "He's what?" he asked. "He's _Shiro_. Either way."

"Yes...and no," said Pender carefully. "Let us say that you and an alternate version of you were merged into one body. Let us say that the other version never met Mr. Shirogane, or met him only much, much later in life. After many choices were already made. But now you and this other must share a body. How much else _could_ you share? You would both be Keith. But would you see things the same way?"

"Oh," said Keith, thinking about that. Thinking about it and not liking the results he was getting _at all_. "I...never thought about it that way...I didn't mean to do this to him. I swear."

The quiet anguish in Keith's voice led the doctor to attempt to pat him on the arm. "If you hadn't, both would now be dead," he reminded Keith. "We can only move forward."

"Is that why -" but Keith stopped himself before he finished the question. Asking the doctor _is that why he turned so cold_ wouldn't help anything. That was a question for Shiro...the Shiro _s_...when appropriate. Not now. "Okay."

"We think he may be asking you to mediate," said Dr. Pender. "So...take care how you answer, and don't assume the question is necessarily anything to do with you personally." He paused outside Shiro's door. "I think perhaps you'd best see, before you enter. To get any immediate reactions under control."

Keith frowned as the doctor moved to activate the observation window. And then forgot everything else because there was Shiro...and Shiro was a _mess_. His short-ish hair was sticking out at several gravity-defying angles at once, suggesting it had been at least a day since he'd tried washing it. He wasn't dressed, or in his chair, but curled in a blanket and twitching every now and then. "What did - when did _this_ start?" Keith demanded.

Dr. Pender had clearly been afraid of exactly this reaction. Was just as clearly very afraid of _Keith_ right now. Galra perception saw Pender as a cornered trembling rabbit, that precipice of terror that sometimes led a rabbit to jump at the throat and sometimes froze the animal into life-destroying dread. It didn't help that _mate is ill mate is vulnerable_ advised killing any potentially threatening being within a range of a mile or so, and the doctors in specific for failing to keep this from happening.

But this was not what Shiro would want. This was not what Shiro had taught him to do. This was not _human_ and it was important, for Shiro's sake, to be human.

Unfortunately the human side of Keith just wanted to cry, seeing Shiro this broken, this _lost_. He turned away from the doctor, trying to get himself into some kind of order, some kind of control. Some kind of _use_.

Behind him, the doctor said quietly, "This began as we started addressing Haggar's influence over the clone's perceptions. We had just begun to consider what she would change, that might not be noticed by the other paladins, that would further her goals. Mr. Shirogane does not ...take well to questioning his own reasoning."

"No," Keith managed. "He wouldn't." Deep breaths. Try to think _and_. Human _and_ galra. Shiro _and_ Ryou. Try to be _useful_. "Okay. You're recording, right."

"Correct," Dr. Pender said. "If you can get him to talk...we can use it as a basis for laying a future treatment path." He stepped back, so the door was between them. "Good luck."

Keith swallowed. _And_ was a very confused state right now, but the doctor was right; this wasn't about him. He opened the door and went in.

Shiro twitched in the dim light, turning toward the sound. "Keith," he said. "You got my message."

"Yes, of course," said Keith, making himself sit down in the chair because what he _wanted_ to do was give Shiro a hug and he wasn't at all sure he had anything like permission to do that. Dr. Pender's comparison kept running through his mind. The clone of Shiro, that they called Ryou, the clone didn't really know him at all, did he? Like...reading a report about someone you'd only met once or twice. But he'd been a _kid_ when he met Shiro. How did you start something from zero? 

How had Shiro done it?

"I need to check some things against what you remember," said Shiro slowly. "I'm...I'm not sure anymore."

Keith nodded. "I'll do my best."

"Did...you try to kill yourself at Naxzela?" asked Shiro, studying a spot on the wall. The tone was very careful, very neutral.

Ah. This was probably what Dr. Pender had meant about being careful what he said. A simple 'yes' or 'no' wouldn't help anything. Keith could really only opt for complete honesty and hope for the best. "Our weapons weren't cracking the cruiser's shields," he answered. "The only thing I had stronger than that to try was a ship. I couldn't ask anyone else to do it, so I did. I pulled up as soon as Lotor's weapons did the work for me."

Shiro was quiet, although a sort of subtle muscle twitching around his face suggested a possible internal argument. "That's...reasoning," he said slowly. "That's not _why_ , is it."

Keith honestly didn't want to answer. Actions spoke louder than words, didn't they? And he'd _tried_ words, and they'd never been addressed. He wasn't sure they'd even been heard, or remembered. It hurt to be honest at this level. And he'd said how he felt and Shiro had married someone else and gotten _angry_ at him for being hurt. He didn't _want_ to discuss this. 

...And then he remembered the doctor telling him this wasn't about him. This was about Shiro. This was about Shiro getting what he needed to heal. And Keith had to choose, again, to commit to that or back away and let someone else do it. As Curtis had done. And when it was framed that way, it didn't matter how much it was going to hurt, because that choice had already been made. Years ago. 

"The planet was going to explode," Keith admitted quietly. "Voltron was in the radius. _You_ were in the radius. If that shield didn't come down you were dead. We'd thrown everything we had at it and nothing worked. I...would rather die to save you than live without you." There. He'd said it. Not without cost, but it was just a sort of floaty kind of dissociation now.

Keith honestly didn't expect a response, and so wasn't surprised that there wasn't one. He just used the time to get himself back to a calm state that didn't feel quite so much like standing naked in the middle of a highway at rush hour.

The next question was therefore something of a surprise, cutting without warning into the silence. "When did you know he - I - was a clone?"

"When you showed me," said Keith. That at least was an easy one.

"You told me you love me," said Shiro slowly. "I burned you. Scarred you. Almost killed you. You didn't ...mean _me_."

Keith took a deep breath. He was...yeah. He was just on the edge of _angry_ at this. Actions weren't working. Words weren't working. What _would_? He'd remembered. All this time he'd remembered. And married Curtis. "I meant you," he said shortly. "I don't like cutting myself open like this when I know you don't feel the same, Shiro. So I'm going to be very clear just this once and then the ball's in your court and staying there. I meant you. Both of you if you insist on seeing yourself as two people. All of you. I wasn't the one who killed the other clones. I trust you. I believe in you. So _what_ if one of you was a clone? So what? You led the team. You led the whole coalition. You freed thousands and thousands of people from lives they hated. Were you exactly the same? No. Does it matter to _me?_ No. Because you're both _Shiro_. Okay. One of you found me when I was a little angry kid. I found one of you floating in deep space. You're not exactly the same. But you're more the same than you are different. You've _both_ taught me to be who I am. You're neither of you perfect and I've never asked you to be, never expected you to be, and I hate that somehow you're just different enough that you're doing this to yourself. Don't use me as your weapon. All I've wanted is for you to be happy. With me, without me, _whatever_."

Very probably this was saying too much. The brief flash of anger was gone, and he felt almost sick to his stomach for snapping at a man as obviously in pain as Shiro was. It wasn't Shiro's fault that Haggar had cloned him or programmed that clone. It wasn't Shiro's fault that Keith had gotten Allura to drag his soul out of the Black Lion and forced the two to cohabit a body. None of this was Shiro's fault and he was _trying_ to deal with it and now Keith was snapping at him to just _get over_ things that shouldn't ever have happened in the first place. Keith put his face in his hands. "...I'm sorry. I shouldn't - it's not your fault."

The silence stretched out again, and Keith focused on not being angry, not crying. Just breathing. Neither side of him was being much use at the moment. He was honestly kind of surprised the doctors hadn't opened the door to tell him it was time to go. It couldn't be helpful, yelling at patients.

"I think...I need to get to know you, Keith," said Shiro quietly, after several minutes.

Keith turned that over in his mind. That _had_ to be Ryou. The idea _Shiro_ didn't know him was just...beyond belief. "I think the doctors would have to let you come with me," he said. "This isn't really my kind of place. I'd bring you back here, though. If that will help." He tried not to be enthusiastic about it, but honestly he could think of a _lot_ of things to try. Places they'd gone, adventures they'd had a long, long time ago. Maybe Ryou knew about them, but he'd never _had_ them, not firsthand.

Shiro nodded slowly. "We'll see," he said.


	23. A Long (Awaited) Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, once you lock Keith and Shiro in a room and tell them to 'talk', the trick then becomes getting them to shut up again.

The doctors were kind but firm with Keith when he left Shiro's room. Now was not the time for decisions. Now was the time for Keith to _go home_ , be with his family, his wolf, and generally put himself back together. And they would confer and _after Keith had rested_ they would call and set up the next steps.

It was the kindest thing they could do for Keith, but also very necessary; quite a lot of what had been said during that conversation had been topics neither man had brought up with any of the therapists in those words, and the doctors needed time to adjust their maps to fit the new realities. They _couldn't_ advise without looking over what they now had.

Brice was the first to put her notes in. "I believe my conclusions here are confirmed. Keith is absolutely ... _bonded_ to Mr. Shirogane. I can see why the Garrison would consider him a stalker. The problem is, the only truly accurate human category for his behavior would be 'guardian angel'."

"Definitely not human behavior," Pender agreed, settling back into his chair. "At least. Not sane human behavior. It skirts the edges of several pathological conditions without any of the....well. Danger signs. Except for Keith himself. And even there, one cannot say what he does is unnecessary. Mr. Shirogane would be dead several times over without Keith's interventions. Keith does not appear to be _creating_ the danger, or demanding any control over Mr. Shirogane's life in return for his efforts. It has been documented in parent/child relationships, but Keith appears to be the _child_ of the two of them."

"I am who you taught me to be," Merisan quoted solemnly. "Yes, that would be claiming the child's role." He looked toward Brice. "A child seeking the parent's approval, perhaps? Going to extreme lengths for it?"

"Maybe once," Brice sighed. "But while he would like Mr. Shirogane's approval it does not appear to be sought or required at this point. He has spoken to me of several decisions he stands by where he is certain Mr. Shirogane does not or would not approve. He is hurt by that, but does not change his course. Two...masters of craft, I would say, with a past history of master and apprentice. One _can_ see the sources of many of Keith's particular extremes in Mr. Shirogane. Perfectionism, for example. Holding oneself to a standard not used for any part of the rest of the universe."

Merisan nodded. "Fair," he agreed. His finger tapped on the table surface. "I am who you taught me to be," he repeated, thoughtful. "When one teaches, one often teaches more than is consciously intended."

"I will be watching for that, certainly," said Brice. "I have noticed Keith is particularly observant and attentive to Mr. Shirogane, assuming nothing to be without meaning or purpose. He could well have extrapolated or misinterpreted. And I will discuss it with him if he permits. But that gets us no closer to what to do with Mr. Shirogane _now_. Keith wants to take the man out of here. I would _not_ advise that."

"Absolutely not," agreed Pender. "Mr. Shirogane has far too much to navigate to switch to outpatient status just now. But perhaps we can still move _forward._ Merisan?"

Dr. Merisan considered the problem. "Ye-es..." he said slowly. "There is something I have wanted to examine. Why a man who has loved the stars all his life now hides from them. He draws the curtains every night. Unless he plans to become an agoraphobe, that _is_ something he will need to deal with. If you wish we can recruit Keith to assist. It should at least make clear that Mr. Shirogane is not yet ready for the great outdoors of the parking lot."

Schlessigner, who had been quiet up to then, accidentally snorted a mouth full of coffee and had to spend a few minutes cleaning up the mess under the observation of the other doctors. "I look forward to you lot explaining to that boy that he can't just take Mr. Shirogane out of here. Have none of you wondered how he arrives? No ship parked in our lot or on our roof? The man has a wolf the size of a _grizzly bear_ and it _teleports_ him." He made a 'poof' gesture with his old hands. "Tell me we can stop him taking that wolf into Mr. Shirogane's room and poofing the man right out of here. Without any kind of trail. He's been observing our security as a _courtesy_ , gentlemen. And he doesn't particularly trust us."

"To an extent he does," Dr. Brice corrected him. "But you aren't wrong to suggest it's fragile."

"Very," sighed Pender. "I was sure for a moment he was going to rip me apart, when he saw the state Mr. Shirogane is in. He made what seemed to be an active, conscious choice not to. But I cannot say how long he would continue to do that."

"By what he has said and done so far," said Dr. Merisan, "He has also actively chosen to place his life below Mr. Shirogane's happiness in importance. So we need only make clear that this is a stage. A necessary stage, and we will continue to guide Mr. Shirogane through his troubles." He frowned. "The questions he chose to ask were intriguing. Ryou does not see things the same way the original does. He had assumed that Keith's sacrificial acts were not meant for him. It is possible he is questioning his approach to Keith as part of his larger questioning of Haggar's influence. If so, that is truly promising."

"The relationship appears to be long term and mutually formative," Brice agreed. "The clone does not have that relationship. But does he want it, or just want to understand it?"

Pender's lips pursed. "It's entirely possible he doesn't know himself," he mused. "To Ryou it must seem almost like an arranged marriage - the other self and perhaps even Keith to a degree are telling him it will work out, that he would be happy with this. But he hasn't seen for himself, and without that personal engagement everything becomes theoretical. Mr. Shirogane does not like being pushed toward decisions, so of course Ryou digs in his heels."

"Are we seriously considering playing matchmaker?" asked Dr. Schlessinger, incredulous now. "We are _healers_."

"And this is something that was broken," said Dr. Brice. "Before the bodies were merged this was the largest point of difference, of contention. Shiro taught Keith. But Keith _abandoned_ Ryou and would not accept Ryou's teachings. Or so Ryou has apparently thought. If Mr. Shirogane can resolve the difference - in _either_ direction - it becomes a significant step toward mental unity."

"In either direction," Dr. Merisan nodded. "Either the Shiro half realizes Keith is not someone he can love, or the Ryou half realizes he can."

"I thought he already resolved that in the direction of 'no'," said Schlessinger. "You know. With the marrying someone else part of this."

Merisan looked tired and a bit grumpy. "Yes, well. Apparently the divorce has reintroduced the question. And honestly...from what we've seen so far I don't think the Shiro half ever quite let it go. It seems more likely that the Shiro half has resented Keith for putting him _in_ this dual-self situation, than hated or not-loved. As he comes to terms with why he has now two souls, and has realized that Ryou's perceptions of Keith are just as influenced by Haggar's programming as Keith's own actions, he _has_ to step back and re-evaluate the entire scenario. I believe _we_ are stuck being along for the ride. He _has_ to resolve this - accept Keith, or reject him on his own merits or failings, firm in the personal belief that Haggar's programming or resentment over _how_ his life was saved did not influence the decision."

"Perfectionism at work," said Brice. "If we tell him we can't consider letting him out until he's improved a bit, I would not put it past him to work to present exactly the facade he thinks we want to see."

"True," sighed Pender. "I think...we may just have to resign ourselves to the fact that they may choose to ignore our recommendation and we can't really stop them. But I will endeavor to imprint upon Keith the importance of doing things in their proper time."

~*~

The Trebian castleship was...well, an education.

Lance found that if he wore a hood, he passed entirely without notice among the castle folk. They saw the Altean markings on his cheeks and looked no further. And he wasn't lost - the castle was built to the same design as Allura's castleship, just a bit smaller in dimensions. He'd spent many hours wandering the Castle of Lions and found he knew where pretty much everything was. Except that in _this_ castle, all the potential was realized. Every room had the mark of habitation - and long habitation at that. Halls bore banners and tapestries. Music wended its way down corridors. He'd never thought of the Castle of Lions as a flying mausoleum, but this castle made it feel that way. _This_ castle was full to bursting seams with life and creativity.

This, Lance realized, was what Allura had known the Castle of Lions _should_ have been from the very beginning. This was what she'd known was lacking. The Castle of Lions had been both the museum of her lost people and a last shred of home she couldn't let go of until circumstances forced it. And he could just about sense her here, now. Whatever she'd done to the plaza of lions had taken a bite out of her energy, but it was creeping back. She was following him, as he walked around. Peering with joyous curiosity around every corner and doorway. This wasn't some desperate sheltered remnant. These were _Alteans_. Alteans that had had to go to the far edges of the universe and hide, but hide they had, and grown, and Lance could tell that this delighted Allura greatly. Her joy was infectious; he had probably the worst silly grin on his face as he explored.

He'd made it out to the flower gardens - the quintessence-sense told him the flower gardens were rather more magical than they seemed - when the old queen caught up to him. She had a fashion sense that made him think a bit of Allura, too - elegant enough, but above all practical. The queen wasn't holding court at the moment, she was tending the flowers. "So. You are the human that the last princess of Altea chose," she said conversationally.

For a _moment_ Lance almost reflexively wanted to try to impress her. But it passed quickly; Keith had been right to remind him that the only choice that mattered was Allura's, and Allura had seen him at his dorkiest worst and chosen him anyway. This queen was...well, a queen. But she had no power over anything that really mattered to Lance, and he'd met a lot of kings and queens with the paladins. There wasn't anything to twitch about, or fear, and he wasn't a teenager anymore. So he simply said, "Yeah. Hood give it away?"

"No," said the old queen, amused. "Though I do find it remarkable how well you pass for Altean by simply hiding your ears. I suspect you are a very good dancer, paladin of Voltron."

Lance blinked. What was he supposed to say to that? And his sense of Allura only told him that whatever she was picking up amused her. "I never really got much chance to find out," he admitted. "I'm good on the silks though."

The queen studied him thoughtfully. "Coran told me he tried to teach you about Altean courtship. Somehow I suspect he made it a bit more complicated than it really needed to be."

"You'd be right," said Lance. "But Allura was pretty forgiving about it." He wasn't sure what to make of the queen's expression, but he found he didn't like it much. Something...measuring. Calculating. 

"And you have her with you now," said the queen with certainty. "I am old but my senses have not gone from me entirely. You hold her quintessence. You are her anchor."

_Now_ the queen had Lance's full attention. "You're the first person I've met that knew that without me telling them. Does this kind of thing happen a lot with alchemists then?"

"There are legends," said Orla offhandedly. "Old love stories of Oriande. It takes a fully trained and powerful alchemist, and a genuine bond of love...and, unfortunately, usually fairly dire circumstances."

"You're not wrong," Lance sighed. "The circumstances definitely rated as 'dire'. What happens next, in those stories? Can I read them?"

"I suppose that depends both on how good your Altean is, and how much we've altered our language in the past ten thousand decaphoebs," said Queen Orla. "I suspect an audio version would suit you better. But as to the ending, I think that will depend on you."

"...Can I bring her back?" Lance asked, and was almost surprised by how small and vulnerable his voice became just to ask the question. "If I'm her anchor can I bring her back?"

"Perhaps _anchor_ is not the best word," Orla admitted carefully. "We have long been separated from the path to Oriande, paladin. We have had to hide here, and our forebears preserved what they could of the lore, but I understand that Oriande's training is more of a revelation than a process. There are no alchemists here who could do what it seems Princess Allura has done. We have not the training, or the power. We cannot bring her back. Neither, I'm afraid, can you."

Lance sighed and sat down on one of the benches, and tried to let the beautiful gardens and the gentle flow of quintessence through them be _some_ kind of balm. "I was afraid you'd say that."

To his great surprise the old queen reached out and patted his shoulder. "Be of good heart, paladin," she said gently. "Your princess has handed you a lit lantern and tied a cord to your waist before she left to wander the unknown worlds. She has made you all that she needs to find her way back on her own, when she is ready. In the meantime, you have only to make a request and we will do all we can to assist you. In her name, and in yours. I have visited Earth many times down the centuries. Humans only rarely have quintessence sense and most often it brings them only pain. We, all of Trebi, would be honored to help you bear yours, and to ease it if we can."

Lance had dealt with adoring fans. He'd even had a few stalkers with crushes during their morale-boosting show run. He thought he knew real when he heard it and was just a bit disturbed at how real the queen's offer rang. She meant this. It was juuuuust this side of outright worship, and she meant it. Apparently the Abyss colonists weren't the only Alteans to be moved to revere living gods. Which was ...yeah, pretty damn creepy even if he did need all the help they were offering. Were Alteans just...default level trusting or something? Allura hadn't been, but then Allura had been pretty isolated from her people and thrown into the middle of a war alone.

Lance realized he owed Keith another apology - this time for teasing Keith about refusing the Imperial crown of the galra. Keith had been absolutely right to back away from that. Lance found himself kind of wishing he could - but he really did need the help. Until Allura came back. The situations weren't the same. So, with careful politeness, he said "Thank you," instead.

"I would teach you myself, but I'm afraid I have rather too much work to do, and have already delayed today's too much," said the queen. "My daughter is busy assisting me. But I will send an alchemist of trusted competence to you, paladin, in hope that you can learn enough to at least make Princess Allura's gift to you less burdensome and difficult."

He should be grateful. And Lance did remember to repeat, "Thank you." But mostly he just wished it were Allura here, right now, meeting her royal cousins and talking alchemy. She would be so happy to do that. To meet an extended family she hadn't known she still had, and a world full of Alteans at peace. It was a dream for Allura. For Lance it was mostly just kind of confusing, but he was good at rolling with the confusion until he got to something he could understand and/or hang on hard to while the weirdness ramped up.

~*~

Emotions could be bottled without too much trouble, but once taken out, they didn't go _back_ in the bottle very well. He wanted to help. He really did. Keith would give anything, anything at all, for Shiro to be well, to be happy. But right now that was running hard into _he knew. This whole time he remembered and never said a word._ He'd remembered Keith telling him he loved him and he'd married Curtis and he'd _never said a word_ about it. Not even giving Keith the dignity of an 'I don't feel the same'. Nothing at all. Being _angry_ at him for leaving the wedding.

Keith was beyond furious and it wasn't going back in the bottle _at all_.

Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid had told him they were staying, this time. The missions could wait until they could fly as a proper team again, and meantime they'd try to get to know Earth and its peoples. Keith hadn't realized what an intelligent move this was until Kosmo brought him home twitching to find some kind of target, outlet for this this _fury_ he couldn't contain.

It took all three of the former generals the better part of two hours to wear him out - and Keith would have felt very badly about that, were Acxa not perfectly clear that this sort of thing happened and tied into everything from 'why galra rarely took mates in the first place' to 'why the interiors of cruisers tended to be almost as heavily armored as the outsides'. Compared to humans, galra were _intensely_ passionate, and triggering that tended to have consequences. Zarkon had driven his empire for millennia on the power of galra fury; did Keith _really_ think himself different? And Ezor and Zethrid thought the occasional attempt to beat the crap out of their boss was a good way to balance things out after years of trying to figure out Lotor, so no hard feelings.

Afterward Keith spent a while soaking in a hot bath and decided that the generals' (and they'd always be _the generals_ , in the back of his mind) idea of self-care was probably better for him long term than whatever the doctors had had in mind. He was tired and sore but he could think, and that was really what was needed. After the bath he took a blanket up onto the roof, and fell asleep to the faded memory of his father's voice naming the stars.

It meant that by the time the doctors called him and told him to come in the evening, around sunset, Keith didn't bite anyone's head off. He just asked why. After the call, he called Kosmo and went hunting. The doctors' request made sense, but he needed the time alone to decide what to do with it. As sunset at the clinic approached, he returned home to wash up before going. He'd heard more than enough from Ezor about 'smelling wolfy' after a day out with Kosmo.

And then...it was time. Kosmo sensed Keith's nervousness, giving his hand a reassuring lick before teleporting them to the clinic. Keith ruffled the fur around Kosmo's ears as a thank-you. "I'll call," he said quietly. "When it's time to go."

The wolf licked his hand again, and poofed in blue motes. Keith blew out a breath and headed inside. He'd been around at this hour before, while Shiro was dealing with the sunset flashbacks, but not quite like this. The doctors wanted Keith to get Shiro to explain why he closed the windows at night now - why he wouldn't look at the stars. It wasn't that they couldn't hazard a guess, it was that there were too many possibilities to narrow down. Which Keith had to agree with; of all Shiro's reactions it was the one Keith understood the least. It wasn't like Shiro to hide. The doctors seemed glad he wasn't angry at them and led the way as if Keith didn't know it perfectly well by now.

Shiro had already drawn the curtains. The room was lit, cleaned and neatened, as was Shiro this time. Just as if yesterday hadn't happened. He was reading a book in his chair, with the reading glasses that were a relatively recent addition. "Evening, Keith. I didn't think you were coming today. It's a bit late."

Keith blinked. So the doctors hadn't told Shiro about their decision. That probably made sense of some kind. "...I needed time to think," he said. Which was certainly true. "You said you needed to get to know me."

There was a slight, subtle shift in Shiro's posture; when he spoke it was a little more formal, a little less warm. Keith wondered if he was getting better at spotting Ryou or if the two Shiros were making some kind of effort between them to display distinction. "I did," Shiro said. "I'm not sure we're as familiar with each other as we've both been assuming."

Keith blinked. Both? But maybe that was fair, too. Ryou had mostly only implanted memories and a few very heated arguments to go on. And Keith had expected one, and been very confused by the other. Which didn't seem to be a trend that would be changing anytime soon. "I'll...answer any questions you've got, I guess," he offered. "But like I said, this isn't really my kind of place."

"Indoors?" asked Shiro.

" _Locked_ doors," clarified Keith. "This...we called these places asylums when I was a kid. Make too much trouble and you'd be sent to one. None of the kids I knew that were, ever came out. I mean...don't get me wrong. I think the doctors here really care about helping you or I'd have gotten you out of here months ago. But it's not really my kind of place."

Shiro looked away, thinking about that. "...You know, I never really asked about your life," he said. "I mean from before I met you. I figured I knew what I needed to know and you'd tell me if I needed to know anything else. Like your dad. But I don't think you ever mentioned asylums."

Keith looked wry. "Why would I? You were trying so hard to get me clear of all that. I figured you already knew what the risks were."

"Apparently not," said Shiro. He set the book aside. "So when you said I should send you back to the home..."

"They probably would've bounced me off to an asylum, yeah," said Keith. "It wouldn't have been the first time I'd been thrown back."

"You could've told me," said Shiro quietly. "I could at least have made sure of that much."

Keith shrugged. "I didn't have to," he reminded. "You'd already saved me. I wasn't going back. You talked the Garrison out of it."

Shiro studied Keith's face. "I think you didn't want me to pity you."

It wasn't _quite_ an accusation. Keith matched it tone for tone. "Takes one to know one. Kerberos was going to be your _last_ mission, wasn't it? Sam knew. That's why he went to bat for you even though Iverson and Sanda were right. You were pushing right up to the limit of what the doctors were saying you had, time wise. That's why Adam was so pissed at you. If you'd stayed on Earth you'd have been mobile longer. But a few years in deep space? You'd be lucky if returning to Earth's gravity didn't kill you on re-entry. You'd be _years_ in PT just to walk, if you lived that long."

It wasn't an accusation, just as Shiro's comment hadn't been an accusation. Just a string of facts, pieced together over the years. And Shiro was briefly angry, listening to it, but looked away well before Keith had finished. "I didn't see much point in walking when I'd been given the chance to fly," he said.

"You never intended to retire, Shiro," said Keith quietly. "It took me a long time to realize that, but I've had a long time to think. It was going to be Kerberos. Then warning Earth. Then defeating Zarkon. And you just kept _not dying_. And then the war was over."

"And...I think that's one of the places I'm different," said Shiro slowly. "Because I was never sick. Not like that. I'm not sick now. I've got...the memory of it. But nothing real, nothing _me_. The dangers to me have always been _outside_ me. Except for one."

"Haggar," said Keith. He paused, then tentatively said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Why didn't I talk to you, about what happened at the clone facility?" asked Shiro, just a bit dryly. "I guess you haven't had long enough to think about that, huh."

"Don't play games with me," said Keith, rather sharper than he'd intended to. "Just _tell_ me."

Shiro shrugged. "Most of that long trip back to Earth I was just trying to sort my memories out. My feelings out. I'd be me, and then not me, and I could barely even think two sentences without wondering where the thoughts were coming from. About all I was sure of was I needed to not make the others, or you, worry. And I needed to ...give you space." He frowned, the words coming slowly. "You weren't exactly a shining beacon of leadership sometimes. But I couldn't repeat the same mistakes. The team couldn't afford to lose you and I _didn't_ have anything to spare for anything outside my own head just then. And then I realized I couldn't sense Black anymore. And I resented you for that. The only thing I had, the only thing I could contribute, and I'd never have it back. It was such a relief to be given the Atlas. To be back in the fight. And as long as there was something to fight outside my head there wasn't any fighting _inside_ it. I'd feel whole. But the second I deviated...I'd start to splinter again. And I knew if I splintered too much I'd be taken off the bridge and I couldn't risk it. They'd given me the Atlas, but they could take it away, too. And the thing about Curtis was...he was new. There wasn't any splintering there. No divided viewpoints. And I didn't answer you at first because I didn't know what to say, but the longer I said nothing the easier it got to just...keep saying nothing, because it seemed to matter less and less."

"And you... _retired_ ," said Keith slowly. 

"It seemed the thing to do at the time?" said Shiro, almost sheepishly. "You're right in that I'd never really expected to outlive the war. And then it was over, and I was still here, and...all the old dreams just seemed kind of outdated. Reaching the edge of the solar system had been such a huge moment. But once you've been on the other side of the _universe_...and we'd gone to Kerberos to see if alien life was _possible_. Just theoretically. The questions just...all seemed _answered_. So when Curtis started talking about getting a house together I went along with it. I had time, for the first time in my life, and I had no idea what to do with it. And when I stopped..." he waved a hand at the room around them. "Everything else caught up."

"Is that why you keep the curtains closed at night, now?" asked Keith. He wasn't sure if the doctors had wanted him to be subtle. But really, if they'd come to him thinking 'subtle' was on the menu at all, they weren't as good as they thought they were.

"The stars kind of lose their mystery when they stop being guideposts to the unknown and start being somebody's address," said Shiro. "I'd look up and...it felt like the days we'd practice night flying. You don't look down and think 'all those lights, places to explore' because there's people already there. The lights are just...markers, pointers to the runway. And meeting alien races loses its charm when you can't help remembering all the planets you'd fought to liberate going 'I thought there were _five_ lions' and 'can you form Voltron now, please?' and the guy whose biggest gripe in the middle of a war was that Coran miscalculated the travel time so we missed Clear Day."

Keith got up and opened the curtains, then. All the way. The doctors had already talked with building maintenance, so for now this resulted in a nice panorama of stars rather than a view of the lights of the parking lot. He pointed. "I've been to that one," he said, pointing one out. "Acxa and the others have visited that one, that one, and that one while I was here. And _that_ one is Trebi. But you know what? Every other star you can see from here isn't even on the Imperial maps. The whole war, every race we met, their stars are so far from Earth you can't see them. There's astronomers with those really, really big telescopes you can point at a section of sky and leave them there all night, to get the really _faint_ stars, and they've been working on our accounts since Sendak died to see if anything _they've_ recorded matches up to the stars Voltron defended, but the light is very old." He turned back to Shiro. "You're being dramatic, is what I'm saying. Nearly all the stars you and I spent our time looking at - the stars you can see from right here - they're unknown to anyone we've ever met. The worst case of 'someone else mapped it first' we have even a possibility for right now are the Trebians, and that's like...eight to ten thousand years ago. Once they settled on Trebi as their home, they pulled in their ships and hid."

"There's always another empire," said Shiro in a 'don't be tiresome' tone.

Keith shrugged. "Honestly, right now? Looks like that'll be Earth. I'm guessing it's been a while since you talked to Pidge. But even if it's not, who cares? No one _we_ know has mapped those worlds. Earth can finally reach out and meet its neighbors. That's happening _right now_. Okay the Trebians are Altean, but they've been our neighbors for ten thousandish years. They've got _cows and horses_. They've watched Earth television. And the Garrison sent the MFE pilots. It could've sent _you_."

"And deny Lance his moment?" said Shiro, but there wasn't any anger in it. He shook his head. "I ...don't know what to _do_ anymore. I know you and Sam never really trusted the Garrison but I did. And they threw me to the Empire not just once but _several_ times. It was one thing to be at the vanguard when the most anyone thought we'd find were alien microbes in a chunk of ice at the edge of the solar system. I don't know what to be, now that we have Taujeerians writing newspaper commentary about proper construction along tectonic fault lines and bii-boh sitcoms."

Again, Keith could only shrug. "Do you really think you're going to figure that out, sitting here?" he asked. "If you want to fly...it doesn't need the Garrison, anymore. Hunk will build you a ship. Any kind of ship you want. There's people out there who would compete for the chance to fly with you. There's people that would happily broadcast whatever you find if you want others to know. If you really want to just start over? The Blades would lend you a mask. And if you really want to stay on Earth there's a lot of work a few hundred miles from the window. And those mermaid friends of Lance's are building a colony under the Atlantic. If you're going to be paralyzed, do it for too many options, not too few."

Shiro blinked. "I thought you were rehabilitating the galra, turning the Blades into a humanitarian organization. When did that change?" Keith just looked at Shiro and waited for the soft, "...Oh."

"Acxa, Zethrid and Ezor have their blades now," said Keith, sitting down. "They asked Kolivan if they could be permanently assigned to me, so...they're my crew, now. And they decided they don't like flying around without me so probably right now they're hanging around the house learning about the desert. We'll probably be doublechecking our boots for scorpions for a few weeks after Ezor discovers them. And snakes in the vents."

"I'm pretty sure those are lethal," said Shiro slowly.

"Ezor would say that's the point," said Keith. "No point getting complacent. She kind of depends on excitement to function. If something's not trying to kill us she tends to fill the blanks."

"You do know that's not right, right?" asked Shiro slowly. Just testing the theory out.

"It's not right for humans," Keith clarified. "If you visited I'd explain you're off limits. For galra it's kind of playful. If she really wanted to kill me she'd send something a lot bigger than a snake. Or she'd, you know, go chameleon and try to stab me in my sleep."

Shiro thought about this. "So your mother waking everyone up to do unwinnable combat scenarios -"

"Is mom's way of saying she likes you, yeah," said Keith. "It's more fun and effective than coffee. Coffee doesn't teach you anything."

"But Ezor likes coffee?" asked Shiro, now kind of lost.

"Loves the stuff," said Keith. "Especially the heavily distilled triple brewed concentrated versions. But that's because it's a stimulant." He tilted his head. "They're people," he reminded Shiro. "But they're not human people. You never really got the chance to get to know most of the races Voltron liberated and you've really only seen the absolute worst of the galra."

Shiro was still thinking over being woken up by attempted murder as a friendly hello. "And...galra aren't damaged by this? It would break humans. Most humans."

"I think it takes longer. And more, you know, actual attempts at murder. Galra are fairly resistant to most toxins. I mean Ezor wants to run some tests on the black mamba, and those little jellyfish in Australia - and seriously, I'm probably going to have to tell her to just go on a field trip to Australia and have at, pretty soon - but _for the most part_ , what'd kill a human just really hurts a galra for a few hours."

"Australia as a galra vacation spot," said Shiro. "Sendak didn't bother with the place."

"Sendak was old school," said Keith. "And there aren't any galra left from the old school - the ones Zarkon personally twisted. The survivors that're still in the military mostly have met Voltron at some point, or Hunk or me. I'm not going to say they're all puppies and kittens by human standards, but mostly the worst you'd want to do is punch them. Not kill them."

"And you've gotten a lot more...comfortable with yourself," said Shiro quietly. "I saw it before, when you came back from the Blades. Before..." he gestured vaguely at where his arm had once been. "The galra accept you, even wanted to crown you."

"Oh, that," sighed Keith. "I didn't want to get into it at the ceremony. They just wanted to crown me because a lot of the warlords, former and otherwise, are pretty spooked by humans right now. Humans piloted Voltron. Humans beat Lotor and Haggar and Sendak. Humans held off a fleet with one shield generator and some rocks. Humans had their whole world pounded into gravel and came back in a handful of decaphoebs to _run_ the Coalition. You're at least half of the reputation humans have among the galra, Shiro, and Voltron's most of the other half. Humans are to all appearances smaller, weaker, and less advanced than the galra - but galra are functionally immortal and humans learn _fast_. I'm still a kid by galra standards. Like...to them? I'm like I was when I first met you. That young, that little. They offered me the crown because I'm half human. Sort of ...trying to buy my loyalty and maybe share my mystic human secrets."

Shiro couldn't help chuckling at the dry way Keith said _mystic human secrets_. "Isn't that what you're doing, though? With the Blades?"

"More or less," Keith shrugged. "They'd never have believed me if I just _told_ them. I did...what I thought you would have done, if they'd come to you."

"I'm not exactly the font of all knowledge, Keith," said Shiro quietly.

"After my dad died," Keith replied, "You have been the only person on this planet to have any time for me. You were the only one of the paladins to think there was anything _to_ me. That I had anything to offer that wasn't a fight. So...you're not perfect, but you're my only guide to being human." He shrugged. "At least, that I'd consider worth listening to. Humanity's not exactly a font of wisdom either. I kinda get why Lotor fixated so hard on his Altean heritage. It must've been nice, to think half of him wasn't an asshole."

Shiro frowned. "There are a lot of good people in the world, Keith. You can't hang all humanity on me." Keith gave him a very level, very steady look. "Okay, Iverson's a good man."

"Iverson told me to sack up and deal with it, the Kerberos mission had failed and you were the cause," Keith replied steadily. "If he ever sees out of that eye again, by the way, it'll be because we figured out Altean medical pod tech."

"Adam," said Shiro.

"Thought of me as your pet project and a lost cause he didn't want to deal with after you were declared dead," Keith replied.

"...The doctors here, then."

"Are scared out of their minds because they know if they can't heal you, or they hurt you, they're answering to me," said Keith. "And I'm pretty sure at least two of them think I keep energy whips in my cabinet because galra are sadists."

Shiro ran down a mental list of everyone he knew. They either didn't know Keith, or they'd had run-ins with galra by now, or they were decent enough people but not exactly people Keith could learn from. At last he tried, "What about Hunk?"

"He's a good man," Keith nodded. "Sometimes I can use him as a guide. More often he's the one that tells me when I've gone off the rails somewhere. You act like it's strange that I remember your advice, Shiro...but you're the only one to ever _give_ me any. Any way to avoid the pits before I fall into them. Something I can use when you're not there to keep things from blowing up. If that hasn't saved me, what _has_?"

Shiro closed his eyes, turning away from the window and the night sky. "If I'm your mate, Keith, then I definitely messed something up badly somewhere. I mean...when did that even start?"

"Mom wanted to know that, too," said Keith slowly. "She was....really not happy when she worked it out. More at herself than you. She really didn't think Dad would die like that. She didn't know how easy it is - comparatively speaking - for humans to die. How far behind medicine was from what she was expecting."

"If this is one of those conversations you two had on your trip together," said Shiro slowly, "I'm _very_ surprised she didn't try to kill me. When did it start, Keith? I think I need to know that."

"After you and Adam broke up," said Keith, quiet and almost sheepish. "That week before the launch. I didn't realize it, you know. I didn't know I was half galra. I just...had that one week where it was just you and me, and you were telling me all about your hopes for the mission, and you took me to see the rocket before the launch. It just...clicked, I guess." He shrugged. "I knew I'd wait for you, and watch for you. That I'd always do that, if that's what needed to be done. I wouldn't make Adam's mistake; I wouldn't ever try to stop you. Up until the report of the mission's failure I got probably the best scores anyone's ever gotten at the Garrison. I wanted to go with you the next time. And then there wasn't one. I would've torn the garrison apart if I'd known who to throttle to _make_ them send ships to find you. But I didn't, and they threw me out...and I spent a while lost, because the garrison had the only way off of Earth. I had dreams of something coming and I listened because I didn't have any other options. At the time I thought if a ship or something came back to earth maybe it was yours, maybe I could find out what happened or take the ship to go after you. But it was _you_. I didn't really think about it. Just got you out of there before they could...do whatever it was they had planned."

Shiro had a somewhat pained look at this, as if it were some kind of punishment to listen to. "So...that's what it does to you. And you've been pulling me out of the fire ever since. Does ...it get worse?"

"If you start comparing this to birds or dogs or something," said Keith levelly, "just so you know, I _will_ punch you."

"I'm just trying to understand the situation, Keith," said Shiro quietly. "This can't be undone, right?"

"I can die. You can die. Otherwise, no," said Keith. "The time for that was years ago."

Shiro took a deep breath. "So tell me what it _means_ , Keith. This has apparently been going on for years now. What are the...well, _rules_?"

Keith shrugged. "There's a kind of honeymoon phase at the start. Galra can recognize it if they're taught about it, which I wasn't. If you make a conscious choice during that phase you can head it off before it becomes unbreakable. Acxa did that once she realized how old I am and that I'm already bonded. It's...not fun? From what I'm told it's probably about like what Adam went through when he broke up with you. You isolate yourself a while, and work through the emotions, and it's usually several years before the option to form a bond is even available again. Once the bond's formed...your mate is the most important person in your world. Some galra transfer that to their kids if they have them, some don't. It's a lighter form until it's consummated. What matters to me is that you're happy, and you're healthy. You already know how much I need from you to know that. You've made that very clear."

"So...as long as I gave you, say, a mood and health monitor, you could be on the other side of the galaxy for the rest of my life and that'd be fine?" said Shiro, a bit doubtfully. 

"If you're in danger I will come," said Keith. "But you already know that if you think about it."

Shiro nodded a bit, frowning. "You said, 'until it's consummated'. What changes then?"

"I wouldn't advise trying to get me to be understanding if you married someone else after that," said Keith flatly. "Do you remember how Zethrid was, when she thought we were the reason Ezor left her?"

"You would never -" but Shiro stopped. Eyes open, he could see Keith's almost stony expression. 

"I think that it'd be smarter not to push that button," said Keith, tone still flat. "You've never seen me reacting to the pull. Talk to Acxa about it, or better Ezor. Or Pidge, or Lance. It's not mystical, Shiro. I couldn't tell you were in the Black Lion. I couldn't tell that you'd died any more than Mom knew when Dad died. It's...basic, biological. As long as you live, I don't _want_ anyone else. If you...made yourself mine...I don't think I'd be able to share."

Shiro thought about this. "But it has to be separate from just sex. I've been a galra prisoner, Keith. I've seen what some of the warlords do to their prisoners."

"If any of them did that to you," said Keith, and there was an edge Shiro hadn't heard in his voice before, "then they are very, very lucky if Haggar got to them first."

Keith was definitely working hard on his self control. Shiro could see that. He could also see that that self control had limits that probably needed to not be tested too much. And yet...he needed to know. This was not something he could just leave there. It had affected quite a lot before either of them realized it and he needed to not be stumbling blind. "I'm just trying to understand, Keith," he said, as calmly as he could.

Keith took the hint. He looked away, out the window, at the stars. Stared at them, taking deep breaths, until he looked a little less like a galra wearing a human skin. "Sex and love are separate for the galra just like they are for humans. Using either as a weapon isn't new to either species. Galra can have kids without choosing a mate, and can choose a mate without having kids. They've evolved past pure instinct as much as humans have. That doesn't make instinct go away."

Shiro thought that over. "So that's why your mother isn't angry, then," he hazarded. "Because I didn't ...take advantage. You weren't supposed to choose a mate this young."

Keith nodded. "She forgave us because neither one of us knew it could happen. Or what it meant, or what it _could_ mean. But you're a good man and you don't take advantage of kids. So...it worked out, as much as it was going to. She thinks it's my human side that makes me an early bloomer, as it were. Because I'm not 'too young' in human terms any more than you are. And she saw how you helped me. She approves. So if you were worried about that, don't be."

Shiro turned some ideas around in his mind. "Um. You said...once you'd chosen, you don't want anyone else. But you would've been with someone before meeting me, wouldn't you? There's all kinds of stories about the foster system..."

Keith turned a very bland, _that's what you want to know?_ look on Shiro. "The stories are probably true for some people. But I've been making people upset pretty much my entire life, Shiro." He scrubbed his face for a few seconds. "Fine. Okay. There was a girl once...a few months after my dad died. I was still a new kid in the system. A girl at the school, about my age. We were definitely kids. She'd heard about this kissing thing and talked me into kissing her in a closet to see what it was like. I don't think she was really serious; it was a game. I put my mouth against her cheek and she decided this was boring, but when the teacher heard about it she decided I'd been out of line. She tried to whip me with a rod. I broke the rod and two of her ribs. She left the school in an ambulance, I got kicked out of that foster home to spend six months in juvie. I didn't touch any girls after that, whether they wanted me to or not."

Shiro winced. He could see how that would have played out, all too easily. "...And boys?"

Keith studied the ceiling. "Years later. I had a reputation by then as a troublemaker, a hard case. I got sent with a bunch of other hard cases who were strong enough to do the work to an avocado...orchard? Farm? Place with a bunch of avocado trees, anyway. We were going to live with the foster family and work the orchard. One of the boys was...nice. Liked to play with my hair during the breaks. I liked the attention. He asked if he could kiss me. I said yes, and that was nice. Right up until the mother yanked him away from me and threw my duffel at my head and told me to get off her land. And he was scared and I would've helped him but he yelled at me to run while she was dragging him back into the house by the ear. So...I grabbed my bag, and I ran. Sixty miles later a state patrolman stopped and asked me where I belonged, and I didn't have a good answer for him. New home, new school....the next spring, you turned up."

"And no one at the Garrison," said Shiro slowly. "Because there's rules about cadets fraternizing, and you didn't want to get thrown out for that."

Keith nodded. "I mean... _now_ I know they didn't mean what I thought they meant. That maybe it'd be detention or extra drills or something. But it didn't really matter, Shiro. I was still the crazy wild kid who was only there at all because you'd vouched for me. I wasn't anyone's idea of a date."

Shiro, privately, wasn't so sure of that. He didn't know if Keith had even noticed the way Rizavi watched him. Keith had never been very good at picking up on cues like that, although given what he'd just said Shiro could see it wasn't _just_ because he was part galra. Keith had taught himself not to even look, because looking meant the risk of being sent away or punished. No wonder he didn't see the mate bond as any kind of particular hardship. He'd gone from the kid no one at all wanted, to an adult very few people wanted to be around, and he'd only had to save the Earth once and the whole universe twice to get there. "...You said Acxa...?"

"Not while you're alive," said Keith. "She's a few hundred years old, Shiro. She found out I'm not even fifty and ...she's fine with waiting. She's kind of horrified, honestly, that she went as far as she did. Ezor teased her for a few weeks about it."

"And what happens to you when I die?" asked Shiro. "I mean...from your perspective I've died a few times now..."

"It hurts," said Keith shortly. "Just do me the favor of leaving a body, okay? You've disappeared a few times and I can't stop looking for you. Mom had it easier. I could show her were dad was buried. I can manage pain. Mom's promised she'll be around to help with walking me through how to deal. We've talked about it a few times. Just...leave a body."

"If I get a choice about it, I will," said Shiro quietly. "Should I ask what constitutes 'consummation'?"

"No, you shouldn't," said Keith flatly. "Because I'm not a little kid. And I know you don't feel the same. I'm not a pity case and this isn't even a pity _situation_ , Shiro. I didn't know what I was choosing when you left on the Kerberos mission, but if I had the option to go back in time and do it again, _knowing_ what I know, I'd still choose you. I'd still choose you even knowing you're going to die _three times_ and then marry someone else, so spare me any hypothetical 'worse situations' because we've pretty much topped any hypotheticals already. I knew what I wanted then, and I haven't changed my mind. It's _your_ mind nobody's sure about. So choose what _you_ want for _your_ life. I'm not telling you this so you can decide how close to the line you want to dance before it all magically 'gets real'. It's _already_ real. All I'm doing is outlining consequences you might not have known about. That's all."

Almost, for just a moment, it looked like Shiro would get angry right back. He hadn't, after all, asked for this - not any of it. He hadn't asked for a half-feral semi-alien kid to imprint on him, he hadn't asked to be taken prisoner by the galra, he hadn't asked to die, or be cloned, or dragged into life, or any of it. And now part of him was horrifed and guilty and the other part was just...off digesting all the information, and he didn't really know what to do. A little, tiny, exhausted, partially crazed part of him just wanted to laugh. Wanted it so badly, that he couldn't help a tired little chuckle. "Keith...only you could make a declaration of eternal love rhyme with 'piss off'."

Keith evidently didn't find the humor in it, at least at the moment. "You said you wanted to get to know me. Stories aren't 'knowing' me. They're just a placeholder until you're allowed to take day trips. You want to get to know me, work on getting better so you're allowed to do that. Or tell me you want to leave and I'll take you out of here. But make up your mind." He got up, looked out the window. It was well into night now. The moon was high. "...The doctors tell me when I'm allowed to visit. They seem to be helping, so...I'll go with that. If you decide not to," he took a small device, about the size of a ring or a marble, and tossed it onto Shiro's bed. "I'll take you out of here and deal with whatever happens next. For now you should probably get some sleep."

Shiro realized this was a goodbye, as Keith headed for the door and walked out. It didn't slam behind him, but the controlled way Keith handled the door suggested that it wasn't slammed because Keith was consciously choosing to make sure it didn't. Once he was gone, Shiro turned out the lights in the room and walked over to the window. Keith was right; he'd never let the night sky in. It was different now, anyway. Ships could be seen between the stars, higher than airplanes but quite a bit larger. Bright strong points of light moving much too fast for planets.

The parking lot was dim, lit only by moonlight and starlight, which made Kosmo's appearance easy to see, the blue stripes and motes dancing in the air. The wolf seemed to look him dead in the eyes as Keith moved to greet the (much larger) wolf. And then they were gone, more blue motes fading into the night.

A few minutes later, the parking lot lights turned on, and Shiro drew the curtains closed.


	24. Of Debt and Obligation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just want to remind everyone that this is a sheith fic, and it will have happy endings. I feel I need to remind people of this, lest they get to the end of this chapter and possibly want to look up my address for assassination teams.
> 
> Focus on the pretty crystal. That's where the happy is just now. Foooocuuuuuss.

The doctors met in the afternoon; the meeting had run late to observe Keith with Shiro, and once that had concluded the group decided that the best thing to do was sleep on it, then take the time to put down individual thoughts and reactions before conferring. If nothing else, it reduced the need for coffee. The kitchen had, again, sent up some of that new galactic fusion food, but only Brice was brave enough to try any; she was snacking on it contentedly as the others gathered.

Dr. Pender opened with, "Shall we begin with how long it should be before we try that again? I think at least a few days, myself."

"I would like at least one session with Keith before we allow another meeting," agreed Brice. " _Many_ things were said that could have multiple indications. Galra child or not, I will not have one patient treated at the expense of another."

"I concur," said Merisan. "We have a great deal to go over from these meetings. Those two are..." he sighed, tiredly. "A mess. But a useful mess, at least."

"If by that you mean they seem very good at clawing each other right in the damage, I'd have to agree," said Schlessinger dryly. He poked at the plate of strange food, eyeballing it as if expecting it to move or possibly bite. "How much of that was even _true_?"

Merisan and Brice exchanged glances; Merisan said, carefully, "Strictly speaking I rather think _both_ of them told the truth as they perceive it currently to be. It would be unwise, and I think unproductive, to give either of them time to dwell on their emotional injuries. I will speak to Mr. Shirogane later today."

"I'll be speaking with Keith as soon as an appointment can be arranged," agreed Brice. "As he is not a formal patient, and," she winced at realizing the pun, "not particularly _patient_ in any event, it may take longer. In the meantime - your takes, gentlemen?"

Dr. Pender called up some files on his tablet, flicking copies to the tablets of the others. "One accurate accusation I am able to confirm. Mr. Shirogane's official Garrison medical reports prior to the Kerberos mission. I spent this morning conferring with the specialist we've had in here to check on him when needed. He concurred with Keith's assessment. Kerberos would have been Mr. Shirogane's very last mission, had the galra not captured him first. Commander Iverson's comments suggest Keith may have been generous even to assume Mr. Shirogane would survive long enough to pilot the ship back to Earth's gravity well. He felt this was Shirogane's method of, as it were, dying on the wing."

The doctors mmm'd as they looked the medical reports over, though only Pender and Schlessinger had the medical degrees to fully understand the reports. "So he meant to die the whole time, then," grumbled Schlessinger. "Easy to be a hero if you've got nothing else to live for, I suppose."

Merisan set the tablet down. "It will be interesting to hear his thoughts. His mortal enemies have done far more to give him a full and healthy life than his allies ever could. Dr. Pender, correct me if I'm wrong, but his disease has no cure?"

"That _we_ know of, no," Pender agreed. "I fully intend on asking Keith to possibly go and see if there are any records among the galra for what exactly they did. But that is not a topic for this table. Dr. Brice, do you have any thoughts on the direction you want to take with Keith?"

Brice, quietly nibbling on her snacks while reading, could only shrug. "Right now, I have to admit I have no idea how to take most of his comments. How much he may be obfuscating to protect himself, or Mr. Shirogane. I've asked the representatives from Daibazaal for a neutral expert to consult on the case, since every galra currently on Earth has a direct and personal tie to Keith, but I think I may have insulted them in the process."

"Dr. Brice, I can assure you of one thing," said Dr. Merisan dryly. "One never has to _doubt_ if one has insulted a galra. If you have insulted one, they are infallibly _crystal_ clear on when and how and what they intend to do about it."

"One of the galra representatives married a human man, Dr. Merisan," said Brice tiredly. "And since _she_ didn't kill him I think it may be safe to assume she has some idea of the way human beings communicate. It's the reverse I'm having trouble with. I thought a neutral representative would be best, to spare Keith possibly having to explain confidential situations to his mother. But I genuinely can't tell if her taking offense is a mother appalled at the idea she might embarrass her son, or possibly something more like being appalled at the idea of willingly sharing weakness with someone outside one's own familial or tribal circle. I hate to say it but we really don't know that much about galra society."

"So...you do not yet have a direction to take, then," said Pender. "Merisan?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to wing it," said Merisan drlyly. "So much was discussed that I will have to sit down with Mr. Shirogane to see which items, as it were, stuck to the mental walls. He may have been truthful, but I suspect he was less than completely honest. He doesn't usually volunteer fault without necessity or prompting of some kind." He tapped his stylus against the table for a bit, thinking, then shook his head. "Yes, that's going to be what I have to do," he sighed. "Much as I would like to question him about everything in detail, it truly comes down to what _he_ needs to discuss first. Enough clawing was done that I cannot begin to guess what hit hardest."

"All right," said Pender. "When will you be ready to begin?"

Merisan tapped the tablet, tuning into the observation feed. "...Sometime after Mr. Shirogane has quit being a blanket warmer and decided to be a human being," he said. "Which may or may not happen today at all."

~*~

The pilots sprawled along whatever furniture seemed able to fit them. The quarters were beautiful, no doubt about that. Alteans seemed to have a knack for elegance. The food was good, if largely vegetarian, and everyone had been polite, kind, and welcoming.

It was making them itch. A kind of low-grade, instinctive, _this is just a bit too sweet_ itch. The only one immune appeared to be Leifsdotter, who was possibly so absorbed in getting the hang of Trebian customs that if she _did_ have such an itch she just wasn't noticing it.

"We could go back out," Kinkade offered. "Send more footage to Earth. We haven't explored the underground part of the city yet."

Griffin was going through the reports the Blades had left. It was amazing and more than a little frightening, how much of the world the four galra had been able to explore without setting off any alarms. He couldn't help wondering if they'd done the same to Earth's secure areas. Then again, it didn't seem that Trebi had many secure areas to start with. They had places people didn't wander into accidentally, but that was a long way from calling them _secure_. 

Ezor's report concluded: _Even though they've spent their whole lives for generations hiding from the galra, Trebians are very trusting. I could walk anywhere I wanted and ask any question I wanted. I checked this by fading out and watching the groups before I 'arrived' and after I'd 'gone'. It may be because I don't look galra, but no one I encountered regarded me as even a potential enemy. Per instructions I did not test this._

Griffin did wonder a bit about 'per instructions', but having met Ezor he suspected it meant Keith had told her not to antagonize anyone. He had a hard time believing Ezor would make it up. Ezor seemed to delight in finding out just how far you could go before someone lost their temper, or started screaming. If she said the Trebians were trusting, then he couldn't really see how they could be anything else.

And yet. He couldn't help feeling like there was something he wasn't seeing. Nobody who knew this much about humankind and its history could possibly be this welcoming. _He_ wouldn't be, that was certain, and it looked like Kinkade and Rizavi at least agreed with the sentiment. "Yeah," he said at last. "We should see how far we can go. Let's split into pairs. Leifsdotter, you're with me. You two," and he indicated Rizavi and Kinkade, "try to get the best portrait you can for the people back home."

Rizavi smiled. "I think we'll go get Lance," she said. "We drag a paladin around, they're sure to let us go just about anywhere."

~*~

Acxa got the order from Krolia, so she left Keith a note on the table under some mineral decanters and took a skimmer. The flight was a few hours, but less noticeable than taking a ship. Acxa regarded skimmers as a borderline useless technology; their inability to handle any altitude meant one was reliant on built in GPS screens for navigation instead of line of sight, and their need for lift meant one had to stay off any kind of road or cause accidents with the wings. But Keith had a few of them at the house, so that was what she had available. And the meeting place, if she understood the directions from Krolia, was a largely undeveloped area.

Dr. Brice was sitting on a wooden bench decorated with old, peeling paint at the rest stop. Acxa pulled the skimmer over to one side and dismounted, walking over. "You are one of Shiro's healers," she said. "Representative Krolia has told me to meet you. I am Acxa."

Dr. Brice didn't look at all thrilled to be talking to another, very visible galra. Especially not alone and far from anywhere. "...You know Keith, I think."

Acxa blinked. "He is my captain," she said, puzzled why this very obvious fact would be a problem.

Dr. Brice sighed. "Well. I guess you'll have to explain it to me, then. Is asking you not to discuss this with Keith going to be a problem?"

Acxa blinked a few times. She'd been reading a lot of books on human history and interaction, but right now they weren't helping her much. She opted for the simplest answer. "I will not betray him."

Nope. Acxa could tell that the little doctor was, if anything, even more at a loss than before. After a few moments of the two women blinking at each other in utter confusion, Dr. Brice sighed. "Okay, can we start over? I need to understand some things about Galra biology and culture that I'm not sure Keith knows, and I asked Representative Krolia to connect me to an advisor."

Ah. Acxa nodded, a bit guardedly. "He is very young," she agreed. "I am not. But I have only recently begun studying humans."

It was Brice's turn to nod carefully. "All right...let's rephrase. Is there another galra, an...adult?...galra, who knows humans better than you? Who isn't Krolia?" she amended quickly.

"No," said Acxa with certainty. "Krolia would be our expert." She smiled then, understanding. "And you do not want to ask her because she is Keith's mother and you think that biases her."

" _Yes,_ said Brice in fervent relief. "Okay. I think we can work together. Um. Just let me know if I'm approaching some kind of line. I don't want to start a war or get killed over this."

Acxa nodded. "I will help. Provided you stop when told, yes. What are your concerns?"

~*~

Hunk found himself at the center of an exponentially growing procession, about ten minutes after he'd gotten the crystal off his ship and onto a gravlift. As he pushed it along the fields, toward the city, grumbling to himself every moment about stupid Trebians and their stupid insistence on _not using vehicles like, yanno, other advanced races_ , every Trebian citizen that saw the huge, brightly glowing crystal seemed hypnotized by its presence. They stopped what they were doing and walked at Hunk's side, helping him push the crystal up any slopes, and hold it steady on even the slightest downward grade. They ran ahead to clear the road, and they were...possibly 'reverent' was the right word, if one could have reverence in quiet but obvious joy and delight. By the time Hunk reached the outskirts of the city, several dozen Trebians were 'helping' him. Once the crystal got seen by the city locals, word seemed to spread at internet speeds, and soon enough the parade was led by Princess Elena, and the gravlift was attached to her enamelled gold and white mechanical horse, and Hunk found himself on _another_ mechanical horse (trying desperately not to accidentally trample anyone while he sorted out the controls), as they made their way through completely clear streets to the castle.

It wasn't _entirely_ new to Hunk to have one of his deliveries treated this way. When you delivered a moisture collection unit to a desert world, or water purifiers to a swampland, or heaters to an ice world, or any number of other options people could get intense about, they'd...well, they'd get _intense_ about it. More than one such delivery had resulted in Hunk sampling local foods and local brews until he couldn't exactly remember how he'd gotten back to his ship at the end of the party.

But it was new that this time he was delivering to a bunch of Alteans. That it was Alteans treating him like a personal savior. That made it weird, somehow. Hugely weird. It was weirder than galra officers saluting him, and that had been pretty damn weird. So he shut his mouth, tried to look like this was an honor and not a damn heavy rock needing hauling a long damn way, and kept his attention on his work. The crowd stopped at the edge of the last bridge, the one that went across from a hilltop to the wide doors which were the castleship's main hall-slash-cargo-bays. Coran came out to help Hunk and the princess haul the rock the rest of the way in.

He didn't have to ask directions. Partly because it was a castleship and he knew his way to the engine room, but also partly because the castle's residents, from the dusters on up, were lining every nonessential passage. He'd have had to run people over with the crystal to go anywhere but where he was supposed to. Hunk might have been suspicious of that, but the Trebians all looked like the only word for their state was 'awe'. They were in _awe_ of the balmeran crystal.

"Nobody here's ever seen a fresh one," Coran whispered as they pushed the thing along. "Just that faded one it's replacing."

"Kinda figured that, yeah," said Hunk quietly. "You checked the connections?"

"Been repairing and replacing while everyone talked to the Queen and toured the city," Coran agreed. "Should all work. Just gotta get this beauty hooked up."

As they neared the engine room, only the princess and the queen stayed to watch. Coran and Hunk detached the cables from the dying crystal and wrestled it out of its setting with as much ceremony as could be managed given it was quite large and heavy. They set it to one side, and then together pulled the new crystal into place and started connecting the cables up. Hunk checked each one as he attached it, approving Coran's work. "Yeah, this should handle the load."

"That's all of them," said Coran, hopping off the dais to head to a console. "We ready?"

"Activating interlock," said Hunk, tapping controls.

"Dynotherms connected," said Coran, trying to be formal but grinning like a madman as the whole castleship started to hum.

"Infracells up," said Hunk, and cool blue lights ran along the floor, the ceiling, the walls. Decorative sconces flared to life around the warmer lamps.

The Trebian castleship lived. Queen Orla hugged Coran. "I wish my grandmother could have seen this," she said, tears in her voice.

Princess Elena didn't get to hug Hunk though, because Hunk was doing diagnostics. "Your computer systems are still here," he said matter-of-factly. "But it's gonna take at least a day for it to finish running diagnostics. A lot of stuff was on emergency power or standby. It may need to do some repairs. We haven't powered up the megathrusters, cos, well, that'd kinda ruin your pretty flower gardens. But if you ever want to move the ship, Coran knows how." To Coran, he said, "What's the status of the teludav?"

"It needs a good dusting," said Coran, politely disengaging from the queen's embrace. "And a polishing. But the internals checked out. Another quintant or two and Trebi can send its ships anywhere it wants."

Queen Orla coughed politely, but she was grinning like a schoolgirl. "I think we owe it to ourselves to make a visit to this new coalition. As thanks for your efforts." In the moment of silence that followed this, the four of them could hear the sounds of celebration.

"I think your people have seen the lights go on," said Hunk conversationally. "Go on and party. Earth'll understand."

~*~

It was early evening by the time Shiro had gone through what most would consider a morning routine - get up, shower, clean up, make bed, get dressed. He drew back the curtains, and watched the news screen for a while. Headlines about the bold Ares pilots visiting Earth's closest inhabited neighbor, links to video footage - that didn't work on this screen, as the doctors had limited it to text only. Opinion pages about what it meant that Trebians looked like elves, and had visited Earth in the past. Whether it meant they were Irish elves or Norse elves or something else in terms of cultural history. Some guy whose main claim to fame had been declaring every major human advancement was down to aliens visiting Earth had announced a nationwide speaking tour. Shiro read it for a while and then shut it off in irritation. Altean technology had helped, yes, certainly. But humans had done more with that technology in five years than Altea had done in its entire history. Trebi had hidden from the Empire; Earth had faced it head on, and _won_.

He couldn't really focus on his book today, either. When he looked out of the window, it was more often at the parking lot than the sky. They wouldn't bring Keith back this soon. Not after last night. That was...was...he couldn't decide if 'good' or 'bad' fit better. Either way, it was certainly necessary. God, what a mess. He almost wished he'd been drunk, it would at least give him something to blame being a complete ass on. How did anyone deal with something like this?

Shiro was almost relieved when the door sounded a knock, and Dr. Merisan entered a moment later. He took his customary seat, and gave Shiro a formal nod. "Good evening. You seem well, today."

"Just lucky that way, I guess," said Shiro with a sigh. "Maybe it'll be an argument later."

The doctor's scarred face, as always, was calm and inscrutable. "Was it productive, then, your conversation?" he asked. 

Shiro paused, taking stock. In all fairness, the clone-self seemed to be almost offline, thinking about everything. "I...can't tell," he admitted. "Maybe?"

"We appreciate that you have chosen not to use the key you were provided," said the doctor. "Be assured we will absolutely tell you when we think going back out into the world is your best next step. For now, what do you think of the situation as you see it?"

"Was just wondering that myself," Shiro admitted quietly. "Keith never fails to surprise me."

Dr. Merisan blinked. "You found the conversation surprising, then?"

"Some of it," Shiro admitted. "I mean...I've barely seen him in years. And he kind of nailed me to the wall."

"How so?" asked the doctor gently.

Shiro looked down at his hand. "...He's right. I never thought I'd come back from Kerberos. And then, I didn't think past warning Earth. And then, past defeating Zarkon. I never really expected to live, doctor. And...a lot of it _is_ because Keith kept saving me, but ...the doctors back then thought I'd be permanently grounded by twenty five. That was their best prognosis. The disease could affect my heart by surprise at _any_ time before or after that. I took the pills, I did the exercises...but I never expected to live. I just wanted to be remembered. I wanted to leave a mark on the world so it would know I'd been there."

"I do believe you have succeeded in that," said Merisan with very, very dry humor. "Is Keith one of your legacies then?"

Shiro took a deep breath. "Yeah," he admitted, unhappily. "Before Kerberos? I thought ...if I could just turn this _one kid's_ life around, this really talented kid nobody was paying attention to, then...I'd done something right. And then - then we're all paladins but I didn't know the galra had cured anything. So I still thought I only had a little time. So I tried to make Keith my successor. And I did only have a little time...but I never thought about what I was asking of him. I guess people usually don't. You don't think how hard it will be on the next generation. You just think...there has to BE a next generation."

"But you have had a chance that few in that position have," said Merisan. "To see where your wishes changed the world."

"Yay me," sighed Shiro. "My wishes got me an alien child bride with a martyr complex."

Merisan blinked slowly, as much of an expression of shock as he tended to ever show. "Is that so," he said.

Shiro's lips pressed together; he looked out of the window at the incipient dusk. "No," he said. "I know better. I even wanted it, I think. Keith had my back. _My_ back. Adam didn't think it was _at all_ amusing. Accused me of trying to build a cult, once. Someone had apparently said something unflattering about me in Keith's hearing and he'd tried to remove the kid's teeth for it. I thought I was being responsible. I told him why that wasn't acceptable behavior, that I expected better of him...do you know, as fierce as he gets, I've never seen him do the kicked puppy face? Like when you tell a dog it's a bad dog, they just look so dejected. Keith never has. Scared, sometimes. Angry. But never dejected. I guess I understand why, now."

"Any failure is a final failure," said Merisan. "He feared you would send him away."

"He's not afraid, anymore," said Shiro quietly. "I guess...because I already _have_ sent him away. I think...in his eyes there's nothing more I can do to him. Nothing worse."

"He did outline quite clearly that there _is_ something worse," Merisan noted.

Shiro actually looked bitter. "Yeah...I guess he did. What's worse is knowing he was right to lay it out like that. He's...not wrong to think I have a problem with being his one and only when he's never had an _any_. He deserves better than that. From me, from everyone."

"Relationships are better when _not_ entered into out of a sense of obligation or debt," Merisan noted calmly. "He is not entirely human. He does not seem to regard a few decades of celibacy as a particular hardship. Perhaps that, also, was a message to you."

"He deserves better," said Shiro. "I'm glad his mother turned out to be alive, that they're friends. I'm glad he's figured himself out. I'm even kind of glad Acxa's in the wings. Even if I...can't be what he needs, he'll have someone."

Dr. Merisan regarded him thoughtfully. "So you are certain you do not love him," he said, the tone almost a 'just making sure'.

"I don't think I could definitively say the ceiling is up, doctor," said Shiro. "I think he's right to say I don't know him anymore, that I can't _get_ to know him while I'm here. I think he's right about that. But I have to get myself to...some kind of functional and I don't have the beginnings of a road map for that."

"Mmm," said Merisan. "And the other is still thinking things over, you said. But what is _your_ position?"

Shiro was silent, watching the sunset, and the fading dusk, until Dr. Merisan casually got up to turn on the room's lights. 

"I don't deserve him," said Shiro quietly. "I'm not sure anyone in existence _deserves_ him, but I have to be pretty far down the list at this point. But as much as I'd like that to be the issue, it isn't, because he's chosen me and he's made it abundantly clear that he doesn't regret it - however much he should - and wouldn't undo it even if he had the option."

Merisan made a quiet, disapproving 'mmm' sound. "I do believe he made it quite clear you were not to regard the situation as an obligation, Mr. Shirogane."

Shiro turned away from the window to give the scarred therapist a direct stare. "Exactly how would you suggest I do that? I'm not sure Keith even understands how little an option there is."

The doctor had to give it some thought. "Let us start at the beginning. _Do_ you consider yourself to be obligated toward Keith? And if so, to what degree?"

"I think the entire _universe_ owes him," said Shiro. "It's just...I'm the one being asked to handle repayment."

Dr. Merisan did not facepalm. But there was that about his scarred expression that suggested he was not facepalming by a herculean act of will. "In strict truth that would be you _and the other_ , Mr. Shirogane, and the other has not weighed in on this particular transaction. As to the universe owing him a debt, or yourself, he has made clear he forgives all such obligation. We have, as he put it, a _situation_. Not a transaction." After a moment, he added, "And it is curious that you would consider yourself as an instrument of universal fairness and justice in this matter. Mr. Shirogane, are you quite certain of your feelings?"

Shiro shook his head, deflating. "No," he admitted. "I respect him. Admire him. He's been through so much. That man should be a ...walking pile of hate to make Zarkon cringe, doctor. He was given exactly one thing in the whole of his life and a lot of people tried to take even that from him. He's been blamed for things he never even thought of doing, convicted of crimes he never committed, turned on by friends and nearly killed by enemies. And for all the good he's ever done, and he's done a lot, someone else always gets the credit. Sometimes it's even been me." He paused, frowning. "...Are you one of the doctors that thinks he keeps an energy whip in his locker? Are you afraid of him?"

Dr. Merisan should have been surprised, or caught out, or concerned. He met Shiro's stare steadily. "What I think of your guardian is not relevant, Mr. Shirogane. What is relevant is that I see you leaping to his defense because you see _yourself_ as the cause of his unhappiness. You defend him to clear your own name, and that is disingenuous of you. _I_ am not that galra's mate. He has not saved my life, nor have I saved his. In this matter I am only a therapist attempting to heal _you_ \- a goal he accepts and agrees with, I may add. And should my lack of response cause you concern, I invite you to ask yourself what you were thinking immediately before it occurred to you. We are here to face your demons, Mr. Shirogane, and defeat them. When it is time for me to face mine, I assure you I can find competent guidance in the matter. But now is not that time."

Shiro seemed to deflate even more. "That's all I can do, isn't it," he said softly. "I can't help him because I can't help myself."

Dr. Merisan tapped his lips with his pen. "If you must see it so," he offered, "then consider that what Keith truly deserves of you is honesty. Either your aspects agree that he is worthy of your love, or they do not. If you cannot agree to love him, perhaps you can still agree on some manner of recognition. The health monitor, perhaps. Some form of joint project as colleagues. This need not be a binary of marriage or complete neglect. Only let the final decision be an honest one, made with a whole mind and a whole heart, and I think he would consider it fair and just. If you would agree with that, then the goal is that unity. What would you require, in the process of attaining that goal?"

"What he asked for, doctor," said Shiro quietly. "Time outside. I could...leave my arm here. Or ask Hunk and Sam to make me one that's less of a weapon. But if you want me to know where I stand with Keith, then...he's right. I can't do that from in here. He's the least indoor person I've ever met. I'll promise to work with you. I think...I've hidden here too long."

"Hidden, Mr. Shirogane?" asked Merisan mildly. "We fight demons here every day. When we are ready for them, and even when we are not. I will confer with my colleagues, as you insist. And we will accept your commitment to the healing process. But, before we embark on that quest, I wish to remind you of something."

Shiro blinked. He wasn't sure what to make of this, though he did feel better just having a goal and a direction. "What's that?"

Merisan stood up, almost scowling at him. "Perfection is not a requirement. Persistence is. You will fall, and you will fail, and this may result in you hurting those near you. That includes your guardian. Accept this. Commit to the process. Begin again, as often as needed. We are not doing this for Keith or anyone else. We are doing this for you."

The doctor bowed slightly and made his way out. Shiro turned back to the window, now showing the night, but didn't study the stars. In the distance were the lights of a city; he watched them for an hour or two before closing the curtains and turning for bed.


	25. Living Underneath The Surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two complete messes and a few approaches to the new and different, your table is waiting.

Dr. Brice looked over her notes. She'd done her best, but xenopsychology was ...well, it was a field so new she was probably the only practitioner. She knew it was _incredibly_ unwise to judge alien species by purely human standards. It had to be worse, almost by definition, than humans judging the practices of other humans of different cultures. There were genuine biological and neurological differences going on. So although Keith was half human, and raised on Earth, she just...did not see it as ethical or correct to use a purely human scale.

Acxa wasn't a pure galra. But she was predominantly galra, and she'd been raised among the galra for centuries. And, apparently almost uniquely among her kind, she wanted to know about humans and how humans thought. Although...Acxa's interest was not academic. Her interest was decidedly Keith-related. And that was a puzzle, because she wasn't possessive about him, but she _was_ protective, and Dr. Brice couldn't help but draw comparisons with Keith's behavior toward Shiro. But where this was Keith's first time with such feelings, it seemed clear that Acxa was more experienced. The intensity was there, but rather significantly less _worry_. 

They'd spoken all afternoon. Brice had offered to continue by call, but that protective streak had shown itself; Acxa didn't trust such transmissions as secure. She was much more animated about this than about her...ex? Love interest? Being involved with someone as overtly complicated as Shiro. Much as Keith had said of Shiro, Acxa simply stated that what was important to her was Keith's happiness. They'd wound up in a long discussion about galra courtship and mate bonds after that, because it _did_ sound so similar, but Acxa was not bonded to Keith. She simply thought well of him as a promising young commander, one who deserved to be happy.

Putting it all into human terms had proven a long, convoluted, but quite interesting conversation - though Brice was still not sure she had a handle on it all. Acxa was willing to meet again if needed, though she was quite clear she'd accept only time and place coordinates over any communication line.

And now...well. Now, Dr. Brice had pages and pages of notes of how the galra saw this tangle, and a perspective from which to view Keith's side of things. And it wasn't as bad as she'd feared, given all the talk of permanent bonds and age differences. The galra thought any age under a hundred or so was a child, or at best a teenager. And if a _galra_ \- such as Acxa - were to approach one so young, it would be seen as predatory, dishonorable, and in some situations straight up endangerment. But the galra were very used to most races being far shorter-lived, so the rules were bent a little for those of impure blood. Keith taking up with just about _anyone_ would be frowned on - except a human, as he was raised among humans. There was this huge sense of _time_. Galra _knew_ they'd be around for centuries (barring things like being killed in battle, or assassinated by a rival) and there was this basic assumption that sooner or later they'd learn, and grow up. To Acxa, the only thing about Keith's relationship with Shiro that was relevant was whether it would be healthy or damaging to Keith. _She_ wouldn't ethically go near Keith herself for easily another seventy years. And Dr. Brice did come away with the firm belief that Acxa was an ethical being. Almost rigidly ethical, really. Brice came away with the impression that Acxa's respect was not something easily won.

So...Keith saying he was fine with 'Shiro or no one' was...of little to no importance, on the galra side of things. Keith knew he wasn't attractive to the majority of humans, so it wasn't like he was overtly denying himself very much. He was bound to protect Shiro and see that he remained happy and healthy insofar as that was possible, but it was reasonably likely that Keith didn't see this as being particularly different from what the therapists themselves were doing - just on a longer-term basis. Keith's juvenile records indicated years of being bounced from state to state, home to home. His human life was defined by impermanence, transience, and quite probably loneliness. Choosing Shiro, _bonding_ to Shiro, on the human level was simply a straightforward denial of all that had gone before. _This_ person, possibly the only good person in his life, he would hold on to.

In a human, such behavior would be understandable but not necessarily healthy. What did it mean when a half galra boy did it?

As far as Dr. Brice could tell...not a lot, not on the part of the galra anyway. If Shiro's behavior toward Keith became abusive - which apparently meant 'refusing the basic level of reassurance demanded by the bond' as well as what humans would consider abusive - the galra around Keith might take matters into their own hands. None of the galra were particularly concerned because they simply didn't see Shiro as likely to behave in that manner. They didn't see 'wearing a health/mood monitor' as particularly invasive or intrusive, especially since Shiro had genuinely benefited from the level of devotion Keith had chosen to bestow. Acxa had been watching a lot of 'romantic' movies - comedies, tragedies, and everything in between, and so far she believed humans had their own 'thing', their own ideas of love that maybe were getting in the way. Compared to galra, humans fell in love faster, tended to be both more insecure and more possessive, and of course there were entire categories of human romantic entanglements that galra only wound up encountering when they did what Keith had done and bonded to non-galra. Galra did not divorce; if the relationship got as far as a mutual bond, that was _that_. Even Zarkon, as twisted as he had become, had been true to Honerva, and trusted and relied on her. It wasn't just cultural; galra just didn't _work_ that way. They could back up or break it off only up to the point that a bond was forged. They didn't have or need marriage ceremonies among themselves. There was no point in making vows that truly could not be broken - it would be like having a formal ceremony to promise to drink water, or eat food.

All the _tragedies_ happened when galra bonded to species that didn't work the way they did, which was rather a lot of them. Acxa, so far, seemed to approve of Earth's tragic romances. She didn't much _like_ them, but she approved of them. They made sense to her, as stories.

That, Dr. Brice found very troubling. _Very_ troubling. Because from a human perspective it was really kind of frightening to think some galra might just _choose_ you, and then if you weren't at least civil to them it could start anything up to an interstellar war? How was it fair to a galra child, one abandoned by his race, to give this kind of devotion to someone that literally _could not_ return it in like kind? How was it fair to a human who couldn't possibly know how deeply permanent such bonds were?

Acxa had simply shrugged and said, "The universe is not obligated to be fair, or kind," as if that explained everything.

Dr. Brice could accept that in general terms, but in the specific, saying 'well, shit happens' was not in any way helpful.

"Okay," Brice had tried. "Let's assume this _doesn't_ work. Let's assume that Mr. Shirogane is repelled by this whole concept. That just the fact that this was done, without his knowledge or permission makes everything just impossible, What then? Do we have a war or something?"

"Because a young galra forming a bond without knowing what he was doing has never happened before ever in the history of the universe?" asked Acxa blandly. "If Shiro is as kind and mature as Keith believes him to be, let him regard wearing a health and mood tracker for the rest of his life a fair means of repaying Keith for all that has been done so far, and let him walk away. We have been trying to tell you this from the beginning."

Brice sighed. "And Keith spends the next seventy years in love with someone who doesn't love him? That's fair? There's nothing anyone can do?"

Acxa frowned. "He _chose_. He might not have fully understood the choice, but he understood he was making one. Look. Some centuries ago, humans regarded the marriage rite as unbreakable. Even when both humans were miserable, they were still together in this bond. They could not take new mates." She paused, thinking about that. "No, wait. Could not make new _bonds_. Anyway. The bond at that time was invariably unequal. It mattered more to one human than the other that it remain. Your race survived that. Why do you think this so different? Keith made a choice. He decided Shiro was worthy."

"But now he can't decide anything else," Brice pressed. "Even when Mr. Shirogane tried to kill him. Married someone else."

Acxa looked ...very, very confused. Confused enough that she simply stopped talking altogether. That made Brice think about what she'd said and try to rephrase it.

"...Keith loves Shiro regardless of all these things," said Dr. Brice. "That's my concern. That he doesn't seem to have a choice."

The visible confusion faded, but Acxa was still quiet. One talon absently scratched lines in the wood of the rest stop table. "I think...I think we are having a vocabulary difficulty. Let me try different words. Let us say 'bond' equals 'marriage without divorce'. The bond is biological, the marriage is legal, but there are certain similarities here. Keith cannot mate outside the bond; humans are not _supposed_ to mate outside of marriage. Both last until one party dies. Yes?"

Brice pursed her lips. "Okay, yes, I can accept that for marriage, although we definitely don't use it that way anymore."

"That is not my point," said Acxa. "My point is that love is not marriage. And love is not the _bond_ , either."

Brice stared. "So...no, wait. What about all that 'most important person in the universe' stuff?"

Acxa tilted her head. "My studies suggest one's spouse is still the most important person in one's life, whether or not there is love. Whether or not the two spouses are together, even. The analogy is not perfect. Humans apparently frequently kill their spouses. For galra..." she shrugged. "If the relationship deteriorated to that point, then Shiro has a lot more to fear from _me_ than he does from Keith. He should then fear me, Ezor, Zethrid, Krolia, Kolivan...every ally among the galra that Keith has made. We would act to free him because we know he could not free himself. Ultimately I believe it balances out. Keith loves Shiro because he chooses to love Shiro. Because he sees Shiro as worthy. He sees this as part of the bond because this is the first bond he has ever forged - whether one counts that as love, or as marriage. He cannot ever fully walk away from that, but the reason he does not _want_ to is because he loves." She studied Brice thoughtfully. "Trust me, doctor. I have been bonded that way. He _could_ have walked away. I gave Prince Lotor my bond, once. It was...complicated. And perhaps he saw some of my actions as betrayals. I will never know. But as things...deteriorated...he declared an intent to kill me. Kill all galra. I could not raise my weapons against him, but I could walk away. I did. Keith could have chosen to walk away when Shiro attacked him. It is not the _bond_ that kept him from doing so. It was love."

Brice blinked. "If you were bonded to him how could you betray him?"

"Honestly, I don't think he knew I had given him my bond, any more than Shiro knew Keith had," said Acxa quietly. "He was a prince, of course he would never return my feelings. At the time I didn't think that mattered. As to betrayal...I knew things he didn't. By the information he had at the time, it would have been reasonable of him to think me a traitor. It doesn't matter now; he is many years dead. I am only telling you so that you understand Keith is freer than you seem to think. He isn't chained. He is making choices."

Dr. Brice dutifully took the notes, but couldn't help saying, "This is such a mess."

"Yes," said Acxa simply, and a bit sadly. "Humans are an unknown to most of the universe, still. We would help more, if we knew how. For now we have to trust Keith to know where his limits are."

"...So this isn't a permanently open door," said Brice. "Shiro could decide he wants to be with Keith, but if too much damage is done along the way, Keith could say no."

Acxa studied her talons. "Yes," she said slowly. "And we are doing what we can to be sure that if that is how he feels, he understands he can and _should_ say no, bond or no bond. At the moment we are confident he does understand this. But I have noticed that humans have been known to say yes to things that are not good for them. Shiro is human; Keith is half human."

"And if they're thinking like humans at the wrong moment, this all ends in blood," sighed Brice. "I think I'm getting it. So you're all sort of standing on eggshells then."

Acxa just nodded. "Well. Zethrid is cleaning her assault rifles and Ezor is enjoying her studies of Earth-based toxins. But mostly yes."

~*~

Griffin hadn't really spent a lot of time around Lance. He did remember him from flight training, but only as a background face. As a paladin he mostly stood out for his marksmanship, but as far as Griffin knew Lance hadn't carried so much as a pistol since the war ended. He'd dropped off the radar almost entirely after that. If anyone mentioned him it was in the context of other paladins, or Veronica up on the Atlas.

He didn't remember Lance being this quiet, this gentle, this... _spacy_. He'd have asked if Lance had taken up recreational pot smoking if he weren't half sure Rizavi would demand Lance share. But he'd keep Rizavi and Kinkade out of trouble on their filming expedition, and that was useful. So he wished them good luck, and headed into the undercity with Leifsdotter.

Griffin had chosen Leifsdotter for his partner for a very specific reason; she didn't think like anyone else. So if the Trebians were playing on their knowledge of human behavior, odds were good Leifsdotter would slip right past any prepared defenses.

The Blade report was quite right; there were signs in Altean that presumably indicated the entrances were undercity entrances. But there wasn't any kind of security. No fences, no guards, no clearly lockable doors. The entrances were wide and did _have_ heavy doors, but they seemed intended for resisting aerial bombardment rather than keeping pedestrians out. No one looked at them twice as they made their way into one of the tunnels.

The lighting was strange; that was Griffin's first thought. There were threads of light pale blue all over the place, like starlight on a spider's web. But right alongside this rather ethereal illumination were far more ordinary strips of fluorescent and incandescent bulbs, fiber optic strands, and even the occasional oil lamp. Leifsdotter examined everything with delighted curiosity and Griffin let her lead him along, just taking in the strangeness. One thing he could tell on his own was that the undercity was far, far older than the city above. The Trebians had taken 'hide from the galra' deeply seriously. Powered walkways took the place of vehicles that might have dangerous or visible exhaust; down here were the hospitals, the libraries, the schools. Everything in reinforced chambers meant to withstand even a zaiforge cannon's direct blast. The Trebians had spent ten thousand years preparing for a life-and-death seige that never came. Could anyone really shake off that much time in fear, in caution? "Ina," said Griffin, to catch her attention. "What do you make of all this?"

"There's nothing like this on Earth," said Leifsdotter. "We've got some catacombs and undercities that are maybe a hundredth as old as this. Look, you can see how they adapted to changing needs." She pointed to the faint ethereal webs. "Those are from the castleship. The ship's systems are powering that light, and you can tell because the web is most dense right under where the castle stands on the surface. The oil lamps mark major intersections because they'll burn even if power cuts out everywhere else. Incadescent bulbs and fluorescent bulbs look most common in the areas that would have probably been constructed after the castleship's crystal started fading. And they're slowly being replaced with the fiber optic cable, which takes less energy to use but more energy to make. I'm guessing they didn't start with those until they were sure they could stay undetected on the surface."

Griffin nodded. Trust Leifsdotter to work it out. "...Let's check out a school," he said. "They're a lot more industrial down here."

"They can take more steps to mask waste gases," said Leifsdotter. "Purify wastewater. It's all rock down here. Geothermal energy would be constant and readily available. Of course, they'd have to hold themselves to much higher anti-pollution standards than Earth adopted, but they don't seem to have a problem with that."

"I'd say yay for monarchy but we kinda suck at monarchy too," said Griffin, looking for the signs of a school. "It's weird to think of Alteans having, I dunno. Sports teams or something."

"I'm not sure the idea would interest them," said Leifsdotter. "Alteans are more likely to focus on individual achievement than collective competition."

Griffin translated that. "More spelling bees, less football?" he hazarded.

Leifsdotter clarified, "More Olympics. Fewer sports channels. They're not soldiers. They're warriors, and that's if they're inclined to fighting at all. Look at the statues. No generals. One or two armored people. Fast running, high jumping, great works of art, moving novels. The statues aren't even on pedestals. Their heroes aren't 'above' anyone."

"Where were the armored people?" asked Griffin, who'd pretty much not noticed statues. The lack of pedestals might have had something to do with that. Leifsdotter, as ever taking him literally, took him by the hand and led him back to one. Sure enough it was a Trebian in what looked like plate armor, or possibly ceramic, with etching of the kind Alteans seemed to like. "Okay, so how did you know there are statues to novelists?" he asked, after walking all around it. "What's this statue _for_?"

"Well, the novelist was holding an open book and I could read the words carved on the pages," said Leifsdotter matter-of-factly. "This one isn't holding a book."

"That's Lord Eydan," said a Trebian, pausing in his walk to...somewhere. "Oh - you're the visiting humans! Nice to meet you." He took note of the pistols at their belts. "I think."

"Why is there a statue of him?" asked Griffin. "In armor?"

Leifsdotter quietly removed her pistol from her belt, although this was a breaking of regulation. She wrapped her belt around it so she couldn't possibly draw it quickly and then tucked the bundle under her arm. The gesture had the Trebian's full attention.

"Um. Lord Eydan was one of the captains that led a crew to Earth," said the Trebian. "In my parents' time. It wasn't one of the better visits. His crew were captured and were being tortured for some kind of religious ...thing. You'd have to ask at the library or school, I don't remember. But he has a statue because he managed to get them all out and home."

Griffin winced. The last generation. He tried to figure out how long ago that was, but Leifsdotter took pity on his pained expression. "It's probably around a thousand years," she said. "So sometime in the fourteenth century. There were several regions in religious tension at the time. I'd need more information to narrow it down."

Griffin waved a thanks at the Trebian, who got on with his day. "At this point I think I'm wondering more why _they_ don't hate _us_ ," he said quietly. "They were hiding from the galra, but their military statues are for surviving meeting _us_."

Leifsdotter looked around and then chose a route. "We can check at the library. But you may be thinking about this incorrectly. You should probably bear in mind that that Lord Eydan had armor that could handle blaster fire and he probably had weapons that could stun. In the fourteenth century that would have been more than enough for him to rescue a whole crew without hurting anyone or being much at risk. The problem would've been making sure he got all the confiscated weapons back before the stuns wore off."

Griffin shrugged. "If it were that easy, _we_ wouldn't make statues about it. Why would the Trebians?"

"More information," said Leifsdotter. " _Library_. Come on."

Griffin sighed but followed her. It was inevitable she would drag him to a library or archive _sometime_. It was like Kinkade and photo shoots.

~*~

Keith walked into Brice's office, but every line of him said he wasn't happy about it and didn't trust it. "Dr. Pender said today I am supposed to talk with you."

"Yes," said Dr. Brice, keeping her tone pleasant and neutral. "Please, have a seat. I'd just like to talk with you about your last meeting with Mr. Shirogane."

No, Keith didn't trust this at all. Not in any form, or to any degree. He sat down like a kid called into the principal's office. Or, Brice suspected, something more dire. She'd managed to get hold of the rest of his files, which were scattered across the municipal archives of half the continental US. Having gone over them, and compared them with her observations of Acxa and Acxa's notes, was...not a happy way to spend a few days. "What is it you want to know," he said, calm and level and - Brice was quite certain - threatened.

That _greatly_ reduced the field of available topics. Trust was essential to any therapy, and she didn't have it. Hadn't earned it - not for Keith himself, at any rate. So she stuck to the territory where he _would_ trust her. "I would like your thoughts about Mr. Shirogane's progress," she said. "What do you make of his condition at present?"

Keith's brows furrowed. "You're the doctors," he said warily. "You're supposed to be telling _me_ that."

"And we have, haven't we?" said Dr. Brice. "But you know him in ways we don't, and we value your input in this. We want to help him as much as you do."

Keith frowned. "...I want to know why you haven't given him his arm back," he said. "He hasn't been having flashbacks still, has he?"

Brice blinked. "...No," she admitted. "No, we seem to have pushed those events to a point where he seems able to deal with them consciously. You're right, it's an oversight. When we're done here I will make sure he has his arm back. There's no reason to think he is a physical danger to anyone." She made a note to definitely see to that. She rather suspected she wasn't the only one to have simply forgotten that floating arm existed. "Are there any other thoughts, or concerns, you'd like to share?"

"Not really," said Keith levelly. "I'm here to prove _I'm_ not a danger to him, aren't I. A stalker with a crush."

Brice hid a sigh. No, there really wasn't any point trying to be polite and formal with someone whose main interactions for most of his life had been justifying his existence to authority. The only way to deal with this was strict honesty. The first whiff of even an omission and there wouldn't be any point in trying to continue. "No, Keith," she said quietly. "I'm trying to determine how much danger _he_ represents to _you_. You said quite a lot of things in that meeting that...wouldn't be healthy for a human to say."

"Except I'm _not_ human," said Keith flatly. "So you can stop worrying."

"No, I can't," said Dr. Brice firmly. "Because apparently you told that man you love him. _While he was actively trying to kill you_. And he didn't respond to that at all, and even married someone else, and yet this doesn't change how you feel. Even if I accept that this is because you're not wholly human, Keith, I need to understand what drives you to ignore a clear threat to your own health. I need to understand what keeps you doing this. I promise you I won't _stop_ you, if that helps. I won't try to protect you. But ...if this _is_ something not-human then I need your help to understand what's going on."

Keith's eyes narrowed and he was clearly on the edge of just getting up and walking out, until she promised not to try to stop him or protect him. "I told you. I told him. He saved me."

Brice limited her reaction to a little sigh. "But that doesn't help me understand, Keith. You've saved that man _several_ times. Surely the scales have balanced by now."

"If I could help him _right now_ ," said Keith levelly. "If I could ...figure out the right things to say, or do, that would kill the demons in his head, all the - the broken bits that have him _in here_ , without his arm, without Curtis or anyone with him, on the _ground_ instead of out _there_ where he _belongs_...then _maybe_ I'd have repaid that debt, doctor. _That's_ what he did for me. I had _nobody_. I had _nothing_. And he picked me when everyone around us said don't, that kid's useless, worthless, and he gave me a place and he gave me a goal and a chance to be something and he stayed with me to make sure I took that chance. Do you get it? He didn't just ...shove me out of the path of an oncoming bus or something quick. He threw me a rope when I was drowning and he held on and hauled even when I fought him over it. He didn't let go. He hauled and he put his own name on the line until I believed what he'd been trying to tell me, that it wasn't my fault the world is the way it is, that I'm not _broken_. And he reminded me every time I forgot. You really think getting between him and a jerk with size issues is on the same scale?"

Brice let the heated words flow past her, refusing to rise to the argumentative bait. The last sentence confused her, though, until she focused on the first part and ran it mentally against what she knew of Keith's record. "...Sendak was a bit more than a jerk with size issues," she said slowly.

"No, he wasn't," said Keith flatly. "Not really even a good general; he sacrificed his own soldiers to get to us. Spiteful and lucky isn't the same as skilled. He got as far as he did for the same reason guys like that tend to rise in human armies. Get creatively sadistic enough and your men are more scared of you than they are of dying to any enemy. Shiro wouldn't kneel, wouldn't let him play out his superior-race fantasy. Earth just...got used as the pawn between them, that's all."

He was baiting her. Brice could tell by the way he watched her. He was waiting for her to put more importance on Earth than that, more importance on the lives of its citizens. The afternoon with Acxa had been very instructive. So she took a deep breath. "I'm not sure Mr. Shirogane sees it that way. I think that from his perspective you've created a cavern of debt. Saving him over and over, giving him this unbreakable promise to always come for him whether or not he acts in any way to repay you. You...are aware that Mr. Shirogane is Japanese?"

Keith blinked at her, his expression suggesting he might now be expecting her to ask him whether he knew Earth's sky was blue. "Your point is...?"

"I'm saying that that culture has some particular views about debt and obligation," said Dr. Brice. "Have you considered that your gifts have put him in your debt?"

"I _told_ him he doesn't owe me anything," said Keith flatly. "I've told him more than once."

"This is about the feeling, not the math," said Dr. Brice. "You can say he owes you nothing, and you can mean it, but that doesn't necessarily change how he feels about it." She leaned forward slightly. "To give him gifts may make you feel better, but it isn't helping him any."

"...What did I do that I shouldn't have?" asked Keith, angry and confused. "If I hadn't stepped in he'd be dead. I haven't been showering him with useless crap or anything like that. So what did I give him that I shouldn't have?"

"The promise to do this for the rest of his life," said Brice quietly. "A promise that you can't break or undo. I'm not sure he can accept that that doesn't incur debt, Keith."

"...I shouldn't have told him," said Keith quietly, looking away. Looking a bit like he'd been punched. "I should've just accepted it."

Brice had to consult her notes. "...Accepted the anxiety, uncertainty, eventual delusions and violent outbursts? Instability that increased until others were forced to kill you?"

Keith slanted a look at her that said he was now aware she'd been doing homework. "Shiro wouldn't have heard about it. Before this, I was far away from anywhere the Earth's news outlets bother with. He'd have just gotten the news I was gone and moved on."

Brice frowned. "...You seem very certain of his lack of regard."

"Kind of hard not to be," said Keith. "He's been so hugely clear about it. For several years. Way before he married Curtis, even."

Brice did not want to tell him that Shiro's 'lack of regard' was rather more complex than a single simple emotion. That was quite a separate issue and one that she couldn't predict the outcome of. So, instead, she asked, "When did you know?"

Keith shrugged. "I started thinking it after he left the Black Lion for Green, and just stopped talking to me. But I _knew_ after that fight with the Acolyte. I woke up in a hospital bed, and I'd apparently been there so long that my mom and Kolivan had had time to get to Earth, and they'd been _far_ away. They were there, in my room. But Shiro was off giving speeches. Didn't visit at all. Kind of a big, unmistakeable hint that he didn't think of me the way I think of him."

"That was some time ago," said Brice quietly. "And clearly it hurts you. Yet you came at once when he needed a guardian. You have been exceptionally helpful in managing his treatment."

"I told you," said Keith, almost tired now. "If I could help him through this by myself, I would. But I can't. You guys...don't like me and for the most part that's mutual. But you're helping him. That's all that matters."

"And you?" asked the doctor. "Who takes care of you, Keith?"

"Me," said Keith bluntly. "But the generals are a big help. It's nice, not having to explain to them what's going on. Not having to explain myself to them." _You know, like I'm having to do right now._ "Don't worry, doctor. If you guys clear Shiro and he doesn't want to see me again, he won't."

Brice didn't snap at him, but mainly because she was a professional and it wouldn't help. She simply said, "You can't give up on yourself."

_Very_ much to Brice's complete shock, what she'd meant as a gentle encouragement seemed to hit Keith as if she'd thrown a freight train at his head. His eyes went wide, whole body stiff. All the internal defenses she'd managed to get around slammed back into place and he got to his feet. "We're done here," he said flatly. "Goodbye, doctor."

He left with respectable speed, and Dr. Brice leaned back in her chair, catching her breath from the startlement. She was well aware she'd just stepped on a mine. After she could breathe normally again, she fully intended to find out what had just happened.


	26. Of Families Found And Otherwise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The doctors confer ~ Coran finishes a project ~ Protective Galra ~ Hunk moves on ~ A session with Shiro

The doctors gathered around their table, with their mugs of coffee and their notes. Only Schlessinger had reached a level of fuck-it that let him do what everyone really _wanted_ to do, which was spike that coffee with vodka. Everyone had reviewed the footage. No one was happy.

"We _cannot_ leave these two alone together," said Brice firmly as an opener. "Not unsupervised. We'd be lucky to get both back alive."

"Are you thinking murder, or suicide?" asked Schlessinger bluntly, sipping his spiked coffee. "Seems it could swing either way. I don't suppose we could put Keith under suicide watch."

Pender gave Schlessinger a don't-be-tiresome glare. "We couldn't possibly hold that man here if he doesn't want to stay," he said. "Trying it would destroy any trust he has left for us. Odds are good he'd take Mr. Shirogane with him, and I don't know about you but I have no idea how one tracks a teleporting wolf."

"You could just _let them go_ ," drawled Schlessinger. "You can't save everyone, you know."

"No," said Merisan firmly. "No. We can help Mr. Shirogane. And I suspect doing that will also help Keith. This isn't a collision of random circumstances, this is a _chain_ of events. Mr. Shirogane's collapse has the potential to take Keith with it, but conversely, healing Mr. Shirogane also helps Keith."

"At least, until the next time Mr. Shirogane is caught by his demons," said Brice sourly. "I have to confess I have no idea how to help Keith independently of that. His compatriots don't seem to know either - they're all waiting for this to resolve to a point where it works out, or breaks down to the point that someone needs to be executed. I may be able to advise _them_ on methods to assist Keith's emotional state, at least as regards his more human reactions, but I don't think I can advise him directly."

"Merisan?" asked Pender. "What's your take?"

"My _take_ ," drawled Merisan, "is that Mr. Shirogane structured the entirety of his existence around the certainty that he would be dead by now. _All_ of this is, for him, the ghost coming back after the funeral and being very surprised that the world thinks there's a hole where he used to be. Every action that he undertook by choice, he did with the firm belief that he would not _be_ here to see the final result. Now that he's seeing those results, of course, the glass castle's a bunch of broken shards. I've seen young men in their mid-twenties have this kind of aimlessness - once they're out of college, life becomes significantly less structured and they have to actually start thinking about what they want to _do_ with their lives. Mr. Shirogane is just...easily the absolute worst case of that I've ever seen, and that's independently of the trauma scars. As far as his relationship or lack thereof with Keith - bluntly, he expected to be dead long ago and Keith would eventually get over it. That life has utterly failed to go according to plan is just..." he waved an irritated hand. "Another file in the mental inbox."

"Keith seems to have been long aware of this and has adopted the approach of a sheepdog trying to keep the lemmings from the cliff," said Brice tiredly. "As far as I can tell, the man has decided that choosing Shiro as a mate means forever placing all things Shirogane above his happiness, his health, and his life. I have no doubt that if we told him what would make Shirogane happy would be Keith's severed head on a platter we would have a very grisly table decoration within the hour. And I am _not_ being ironic or sarcastic. If anything it is deeply disturbing to see a martyr's zeal paired with the methodical planning of a military commander." She paused. "He did however remind me that we have yet to return Mr. Shirogane's arm. Since Mr. Shirogane does not pose a physical danger to anyone, I cannot see why we would not do so."

Pender blinked and made a note. "Good point. I will see to that. Perhaps it will help his mood. Dr. Merisan. What is your next step?"

Merisan wrapped his fingers around his coffee mug as if the dark liquid held some kind of answer. "...He is committed to the process," he said quietly. "For, currently, most of the wrong _reasons_ , but committed nonetheless. I suspect my best next move will be to start liberating the man from his inner tiger mom. He needs the room to admit fault, admit failure. Else he will continually approach life from a standpoint of what he owes it, and what it may owe him. I will let you all know when I think he is ready to be allowed out with Keith. In honesty I would do so now, could I but duct-tape the man's mouth shut. Right now it is all but impossible for him to say something that would _not_ do harm."

"Agreed," said Brice. "For Keith as well. I think Keith is right - they won't get to know each other in here. But we need them to interact where we can observe and separate them. They're just too..." she sighed. "Their aim is impeccable and their claws are sharp. In the field there are no bandages."

"Then we get them to a point where they _can_ go out," said Pender. "Dr. Brice. You said the galra on this planet are all on his side? Then we will use them. Contact them. All of them. Tell them what they need to do. It's ...more or less triage, I admit, but if nothing is done he may well destroy himself before Mr. Shirogane is in a fit state to make rational long term decisions."

Dr. Brice nodded. "In all honesty, doctor, the only flaw in that plan is the galra may be _too_ enthusiastic in their aid. I will get on it."

~*~

Coran was nothing if not unswervingly loyal. And that meant seeing to the needs of the queen before seeing to his own. So he spent the rest of the day after the new crystal was installed in the teludav matrix, dusting and then polishing each and every single one of the scaultrite lenses until they gleamed. And then calibrating the laser lenses so that he was absolutely, one hundred percent certain the system was working properly.

It was a quiet ceremony as Hunk offered to be the test case. He has hyperjump capability in his ship, so if it went wrong he could make his way to a crystal relay in a few weeks, tops. Coran led the queen to the long-disused bridge, showed her where the pedestals were for the teludav and how to raise them, and the controls for creating and directing a wormhole.

Hunk opened a comm line once he was settled on his own ship. _You guys ready?_

Coran looked to Queen Orla and her fascinated daughter. "We're ready," he said. "Send your destination."

Hunk moved to transmit some coordinates. _Just so you know, that's Altea,_ he said. _If you feel like visiting the place anytime soon. My workshop's there._

Queen Orla beamed. "Thank you, Paladin," she said. "We did need those coordinates; we thought Altea destroyed, so the location was lost. I will most certainly send an envoy soon. Now, let's see..." the pedestals raised, and she set her hands to them. She closed her eyes, concentrating.

_Yep, there's my wormhole_ , said Hunk. _If this goes well you'll hear from me in a few ticks._ The transmission ended, and the bridge's screen magnified the image of Hunk's ship lifting off, heading for the new wormhole, and disappearing.

The queen looked uneasy. "I hope I did that correctly," she said quietly. "I would not want it said I lost a Paladin of Voltron."

"You'll be fine, your majesty," said Coran. "So will Hunk. Even if the wormhole had problems, he's seen it before. He'll be okay."

Sure enough, a few moments later Hunk's face, relieved and happy, appeared on the screen. _Nice job, Queen Orla. And if you'll take a look here,_ and the screen now displayed an orbital view of Altea, _that's Altea down there. Permission to share your castleship's transponder code?_

"Permission happily granted, Paladin," said Queen Orla. "I will have to make sure someone is here at all times to receive and transmit, but that should not be difficult. Tell our cousins we would love to see them."

_Will do_ , said Hunk, and the screen went dark. Queen Orla gingerly took her hands off the pedestals. "And it requires a mystic to operate this?" she said. 

Coran nodded. "Someone who can be an alchemist. As you see it doesn't really require _much_ training. The princess...the princess used to do it all the time."

"Mmm," said the queen, noting the way Coran's voice skittered a bit when mentioning Allura. "It is not difficult in terms of skill, but is a bit draining. I think it will be a duty I assign to one of the younger people. Clearly, this bridge must be manned at all times now." She smiled proudly. "We are once again part of the universe. I will make the announcement to the people that we will open wormholes to Earth and Altea."

Princess Elena coughed politely, getting her mother's attention. "So. Should I prepare for the trip to Earth then? I'm sure the humans want to return home."

Queen Orla looked to Coran for an answer to that. He shrugged. "Probably? You might want to ask Lance if he wants to stay longer though. I think he mentioned wanting to meet more of the mystics to see what he can learn."

~*~

A field trip to the Australian outback proved instructive for just about everyone. Keith was mostly relieved that it _was_ a good idea. Ezor seemed to think it was some outcropping of paradise, and kept sneaking up on anything that might bite - which was most of the things - to get whatever it was to bite or sting her collection sticks so she could measure the toxicity. She disappeared with a sack full of collection sticks almost at once.

Zethrid just shook her head and handled fire building. Or at least tried to. There were two cries of "Ezor, the tree's poison too, get over here" before she found something that she could safely set fire to.

Keith watched them with a little amused grin. "I'll stick with my picture books, thanks." Being half human and well aware just about anything could be lethal, since he hadn't been raised _here_ , he'd invested in some picture books meant to teach Australian children about snakes to avoid, trees to not go under, and spiders to back away from slowly. He was fine with his companions experimenting but not in a mood to test his own immunities. If he ever owed Pidge a huge debt he'd volunteer for 'scientific' testing of his resistance in her lab.

"And humans live here?" asked Acxa doubtfully. "I could understand galra settling here. The poisons so far don't seem to be lethal for us." She poked a talon at the back of one of Keith's picture books. "Why do humans?"

Keith absently turned the pages of the 'dangerous snakes' book to make sure one he was looking at could be dealt with. "There isn't a dangerous place in the universe that humans wouldn't try to live in," he said. "There's always someone that's going to take it as a challenge." Ah. Yes. That one was poison. Okay. He took out his knife and threw it at the snake, cutting off its head. When it stopped thrashing, he put the head in a little bag for Ezor, and tossed the body toward Zethrid, and then retrieved his knife.

"You realize it's gonna be movements before we can pry Ezor outta here," rumbled Zethrid, eyeing the snake body. In her large hands it didn't rate as more than a snack, but she wound it around a safe-to-burn stick to cook anyway. "The resale value of this stuff's gotta be off the charts. Almost nobody knows anything about Earth-based toxins."

Kosmo had come too, although he very clearly did not like the spiders. Keith ruffled the wolf's fur. "We might not stay long," he said. "I mean Kosmo and me. But it's not a long trip, so if you and Ezor want to stay and collect samples, I don't see why not. Kolivan would love to see what you find."

Zethrid brightened at that. "Ya think? Not sure how much of it's lethal. The poison trees are a nice touch."

"Well, that's what Ezor's finding out, right?" asked Keith. "I could leave you the picture books. Oh and watch out for the water. The crocodiles aren't poisonous but they can get pretty big, I'm told."

Zethrid was grinning now, with all her teeth. " _Really_ ," she said. "You should stay, boss. This is awesome." She looked around. "They're in the water, huh?"

"Along with more snakes," Keith agreed, trying not to laugh at her enthusiasm. "The ocean's a different book." He fished that one out. "If you reach the coasts, there's different things there. Just make sure Ezor tests all the meat for toxins before you try eating it. Some creatures here eat the poison and it makes their meat poison too."

"You have _got_ to tell Kolivan about this place," said Zethrid firmly. "We could train Blades here."

"There are humans here too," said Keith. "If you find them, be polite or leave them alone."

Zethrid blinked. "But you said it's all poison. Why would _they_ live here?"

Acxa took over. "Humans live everywhere on this planet. They adapt. But Kosmo definitely doesn't like it here."

"It's like the cosmic abyss," Keith agreed. "Only he's not really geared to deal with little bitey things like spiders and snakes. I'll take him to Canada, or maybe Russia. He likes those places. I'll keep my communicator on."

"I'm _going_ with you," said Acxa. "I'll catch Ezor's presentation on snakes later."

Keith slanted a Look at her. "You do realize I can go places by myself, right?"

"Of course, commander," said Acxa matter of factly. "However, your mother outranks you. And she received word from Trebi that the council's going to be receiving visitors soon, so she can't come to visit you. So she tasked me with keeping an eye on you. Don't like it, take it up with your mother, and in the meantime I am coming with you."

To Keith's surprise Zethrid nodded approval. "You think we don't notice you being all," she waved a hand in a wiggly sort of way, which could mean anything, "when you get back from that place they've got Shiro? If you couldn't handle yourself you wouldn't be a Blade but that isn't the _point_ , is it." Her one good eye was very keen, and she was watching Keith. "The _point_ is people got your back and you keep _forgetting_. So. We're gonna remind you." She poked at her cooked snake snack with a claw, testing it. "Hm. Might be edible. Anyway, I have to do this to Ezor all the damn time. She likes to do the solo thing too, so I just have to grab her sometimes and remind her hey, we're a team."

"And people have to choose to be on a team," said Keith quietly, with just a bit of a smile. More loudly, he said, "All right, Acxa. Let's go. Zethrid, call if you need us - otherwise, meet back at the house in a movement. And tell Ezor no live samples. The humans have laws about that kind of thing."

~*~

Rizavi and Kinkade were joyously busy bees once turned loose. More or less following the ancient signs of 'that looks pretty' or 'that looks interesting', between the two of them they'd interviewed several of the Trebian citizens about renewing contact with Earth, lots of the more interesting sculptures and gardens, and local wildlife that hadn't been brought from Earth.

Lance came with them, and while his presence made the Trebians significantly happier to answer any and all questions Rizavi put to them, he didn't really have much to say. He gave the impression of being out on a date while walking by himself - doing the kinds of things people _did_ on dates, like pausing on a bridge to admire a view, or picking flowers. The Trebians seemed to think he was just shy of a divine avatar, which didn't help Rizavi or Kinkade pick up the courage to ask him what was on his mind. After the first few hours they decided it was better to just assume he'd be like that all the time and got on with their filming. Earth was certain to find it all very interesting.

Lance _was_ on a date, of course. Allura flickered at the edges of his vision, her voice clear in his mind. She was much more _there_ than before the plaza - awake but not, sadly, any more present. And she loved Trebi - loved the fact that it existed, loved that some of her family had survived to take care of it, that there were still mystic Alteans in the universe that might one day be alchemists.

"Except they can't," Lance mused. "Oriande is gone. Honerva saw to that."

_You're forgetting that Oriande was built,_ Allura replied. _And anything that's built can be rebuilt. When they're ready. Oh, look at the light on those towers. Just look!_

"I _am_ looking," Lance thought at her, without hiding the smile her joy brought. "Do you want me to stay here? I mean, I could. I could call mom, bring ..." he tried calculating. "Maybe half the family? And Veronica would happily ferry everybody, she'd get all the latest gossip that way."

_You should probably not plan on moving here, Lance_ , said Allura, a bit more solemnly. _You have a lot to do. You won't have time to settle down._

Lance blinked. "Really? Because I've been pretty settled so far."

_That's my fault,_ Allura admitted. _And I'm sorry. I needed you, to find my way to this reality. I still do. I have a lot to do too. I have to make sure the darkness stays out. Or...at least, make sure something's ready when it comes back._

"Hey, don't be sorry," said Lance, tossing a flower over the bridge rail to float on the river below. "You know I'd do anything you need. I mean, I miss you, but this is better than nothing." He paused. "What do you mean about 'the darkness'? Is Honerva coming back?"

_Honerva is an agent of the darkness, or at least she was. Twisted by it even after Oriande restored her memories. It's...universal mystic stuff, Lance, don't worry about it. I'm taking care of it._

Lance blew out a breath, and Rizavi plucked at his sleeve. "Hey. No moping. We just found a gourmet french fry place. I mean really. _Gourmet french fries_. We have _got_ to try this."

Lance smiled and let himself be dragged along - and honestly, the idea of Alteans trying to figure out french fries did sound worth investigating. But he didn't like it when Allura tried to handwave something away. Sure, he didn't know much about magic, but it sounded like she was busy with something important. "Is it impossible to believe I might be able to help?" he asked Allura plaintively.

_Lance,_ and Allura could pack love, amusement, and reassurance into the single syllable, _you're my way home. You ARE helping._

She was silent for a while after that, and Lance focused on keeping Rizavi and Kinkade focused and enjoying their day, because all of this was going back to Earth and it would be good if people came away with a nice impression of their newly discovered neighbors. Gourmet french fries weren't bad, either, although he did wonder what had made the Trebians decide to try doing it. The Trebians didn't seem to do sodas, but they did very nice things with fruit juices. At least, Lance preferred to think of it as fruit juice; as a longterm survivor of Hunk's cooking, he knew better than to ask what was in it if it tasted good.

"Oh hey," said Rizavi all at once, and grabbed Kinkade by the sleeve and pointed. "That's Hunk's ship isn't it? Where's he going? Aren't you going with him, Lance?"

Kinkade dutifully got his camera in position to catch Hunk's ship in flight. Lance said, "No, he's got his own thing going and I have things to do here."

They watched as a wormhole opened up, and Hunk's ship disappeared. "So...was that a wormhole from Earth?"

"Nope," said Lance, with certainty. "That came from the castle. Looks like the Trebian teludav's working. You guys are able to go back to Earth now."

"So...you can tell?" asked Rizavi, excited, and Lance found Kinkade's camera pointed at his face. It was a long, long way from the first time _that_ had ever happened, though, so despite Lance's gut level reaction of _what the hell?_ he smiled and made himself look relaxed, though Allura's giggles were sounding in his mind. 

"...Well, yeah, sometimes," he replied. "But the way _you_ can tell is, that's not where Keith put the crystal relay. If Earth had sent a wormhole, we wouldn't have seen it. Since we did, it had to be the castle's teludav making it."

Rizavi had a moment of 'aw, crap,' because what could have been a great segue into Discussing Lance's Weird Marks On Camera had just been neatly fended off. Kinkade knew when to stop recording, though, and did. "Never would have figured gourmet french fries could be a thing," he said. "They really like dairy, too. Ice cream shops, milkshake parlors."

"The bit that gets me is they've got _chocolate_ ," Lance pointed out. "That's a south american plant. So they've been visiting all over Earth."

Rizavi blinked and snapped her fingers. "That's right. I remember. And the Aztecs _drank_ it. I haven't seen a single chocolate bar." She paused. "I mean physical, rectangular bar. Lot of drinking-chocolate bars though."

"You missed the shop about four blocks back," said Lance, which got both of the pilots eyeballing him because he hadn't _looked_ that attentive. "They've got truffles. They know about solid chocolate."

_You didn't tell me about chocolate,_ Allura lamented. _Is it good?_

"I like it," Lance thought at her. "But you're just going to have to come back and try it for yourself. I promise to have a big pile of it waiting when you do." Out loud, to the pilots, he said, "We should probably get back. Griffin won't have seen the wormhole if he's still poking around the undercity. You guys _probably_ want to get home before Queen Orla sends emissaries to the coalition. People will be wanting to ask you stuff."

~*~

Dr. Merisan entered after his customary knock, but it wasn't until he heard the unexpected sound of the blankets on the bed being meddled with that Shiro turned away from the window. The doctor had set down a case.

"Your arm, Mr. Shirogane," he said. "You have been without flashback for several weeks. It is time you had this back."

He stepped back and took his usual seat as Shiro opened the latches and pulled back the cover. There it was, the arm Sam had made for him. Polished and clean, all the scratches buffed out. He tugged it out of the foam casing and turned it over, opening the little compartment that kept the power switch from being turned on or off accidentally. Once it was on, he tugged off his shirt with the practiced wrestle of someone very used to doing so with one arm, and felt along his shoulder for the matching compartment in the implanted field generator. He'd have been fine with just an arm, provided it wasn't too heavy, but you couldn't give practical projects to a man like Sam Holt. He invariably got carried away by possibility. Superpowered Sentient Floating Arms were a fairly predictable result. Once he'd powered the generator the arm floated up and into position, just as if it were attached to his body. Both hands then closed the case and put the shirt back on - which was one of those things that was easier if he didn't think about it, because not having an _upper_ arm could still throw him otherwise. He flexed the prosthetic fingers with a little smile. "Thanks."

"The work has all been yours, Mr. Shirogane," said Dr. Merisan. "It has been suggested you might want something less ...overtly weaponized... for every day use. Your thoughts?"

"As long as it actually connects to my body, sure," said Shiro. "Don't get me wrong - this arm's great. But I think...sometimes it'd be nice to be ordinary. Normal. Something I wouldn't need tailor made shirts for, for example."

"Even if it requires more surgeries to adjust the fitting at the shoulder?" asked Dr. Merisan.

"Wouldn't be the first time," said Shiro. "And at least doctors here know about things like anaesthetic. Let's face it - most people with injuries like mine wouldn't like the arm I have. It's better than having nothing, but ...in a way it's swapping one special need for another, and..." He shrugged, trailing off.

"It would be nice not to be constantly reminded that you have become...special," said Dr. Merisan, nodding slowly. "Understandable. Well. I will pass the word along, though I am surprised at your position on this. Surely 'Shiro the Hero' has been special for quite some time. "

Shiro made a sour face at him. " _Don't_ call me that. That man ...isn't real. It's just a...mask, a role. I don't even know what's under it."

Merisan watched the prosthetic. After a few years without it, Shiro would have to adapt again to its responsiveness to his mood, thoughts. Right now it was clenched into a fist, resting against his thigh. "I have looked into your records," he said mildly. "Accepted to the Garrison on a full ride scholarship at fourteen? And Japan is quite competitive in its application process."

"I didn't have any time to waste," said Shiro quietly. "The footage from the Calypso mission was showing and...I knew I wanted to go there. See that. I didn't have _time_ , doctor. If I wanted to see it before I died I had to be the best. I ran the drills and simulations until I was practically doing the tests in my sleep."

"I am not surprised," nodded Merisan. "It doesn't seem that you slowed down once you reached the Garrison either. Quite a few advanced placement exams in your file."

Shiro sat down, looking out the window again, frowning faintly at a partly cloudy sky. "I wanted to fly before I lost the opportunity," he said. "Written tests were easy. Get them out of the way to spend more time in the simulator. Log the hours to get into the real thing - no shortcut there, so I needed to start as soon as I could."

The hand was relaxed again; Merisan noted that. "Any friends, while you were breaking academic records?" he asked mildly.

"Not really," said Shiro. "Admirers. Some people that thought they were rivals. I wasn't doing it to beat _them_. I was racing a clock. I'd go out with them if they asked, because it's never a good idea to make enemies if you don't need to. Never could get Keith to understand that. Sometimes you save a lot of time by going out for a drink when you're asked. I met Adam that way. He could just about keep up with me. And he understood about the clock, or I thought he did. He made himself my second so that the idiots that thought being first was more important than getting the hours or doing the work were focused on getting past him, rather than pestering me."

Merisan picked up on the note of sadness. "Tell me about Adam," he suggested.

Shiro smiled slightly. "First love," he said. "But not exactly a head on thing. He was really quiet. We met one night when the other cadets dragged us out because they thought we spent too much time studying. Everyone's being loud and crazy and drinking themselves sick, and we're talking over some sodas about an upcoming exam. He was...really surprised, at first. People'd see me working out and think I was a jock type, you know. I didn't tell people it was because I _had_ to, that if I didn't keep myself as fit as I could I'd just deteriorate that much faster. So he was surprised I could keep up with him when he started talking about the engineering tricks built into the latest aircraft. After that we started studying together, and then I'd drag him to the gym to be my workout buddy. We sort of...met in the middle a lot; I'd approach things from a more physical or tactical standpoint and he'd take the academic approach. We challenged each other. All the time. And one day after we'd hit the gym the light just...hit his face perfectly, and I kissed him."

Dr. Merisan consulted his notes. "You were together several years, it seems."

"Right up to the Kerberos mission," Shiro agreed. "He met Keith, told me I was having an ego trip. Trying to make a mini-me out of a stray cat. He agreed Keith was gifted - just not disciplined. We'd argue about it, but not seriously. That was reserved for my health." He made a face. "The longer we were together and the more he learned about my condition - and he was an academic, so he got pretty much every book there was - the more I scared him, I think. Adam didn't have a clock to beat and he wasn't curious the same way I was. It didn't matter to him whether he personally got to see the rings of Saturn. He liked the Garrison life, meeting new people, building a slow, steady stairway to heaven with careful advances. He'd break records with me, but for him it was about the science, about pushing the math, not pushing himself."

Merisan jotted a note. "You say you scared him?"

"Me dying scared him," said Shiro. "He hadn't had his whole life to know time isn't a guarantee. It hadn't been an issue before he started caring about me. He started...getting smothering. I didn't want to live wrapped in cotton in a little mechanized chair. That wasn't living, to me. Adam would have been happy if I lived to fifty, wearing diapers and carefully kept away from anything stimulating in case my heart skipped a beat. I mean...he'd have taken care of me, I'm sure of that. But he couldn't understand that that wasn't a future I wanted to live. I'd rather spend two years doing something real than twenty doing nothing."

"It seems a valid reason to end things," said Merisan softly. "So what makes you sad?"

"...He was the one who was supposed to live," said Shiro sadly. "Not me."

Merisan checked his notes on Adam's records. "He died in the first counterattack against the galra invasion," he observed.

"Yeah," said Shiro, and the prosthetic hand made a fist again. "Sam _told_ them our jets were no match for the cruisers, but Sanda wouldn't listen. It should have been _her_ life on the line for her pride, not his. A completely stupid, pointless way to die."

"In my experience, most ways to die are," said Merisan. "Does it upset you, that you were not there with him?"

Shiro was silent, thinking about it. "...I would have been with him, if he'd had his way," he said quietly. "But I wouldn't have died in the air. I'd have been grounded, by then."

"So you would have been forced to watch him obey bad orders, and die," Merisan theorized. "You could not have saved him."

"I think...I think it's just that I really never expected to outlive him," said Shiro slowly. "I never thought _I'd_ be giving _his_ eulogy. And when I did...when I was giving that speech...I realized that was what he'd been seeing the whole time. That was what he'd been living with. What he _couldn't_ live with. Giving my eulogy, and having to say he could've stopped me and didn't."

"It did not seem to stop you from taking risks, certainly," said Merisan. "Or the paladins."

Shiro made a face. "They were never closer to death than right here on Earth, doctor. Right _here_. They'd fought on Zarkon's front porch, faced down multiple fleets. Been trapped on a planet about to explode. What sends them into the ICU for weeks? The fight right here at home. I promised myself I'd get them home, and I did, and it nearly killed them." He looked down at his hands. "...Do you have any idea what I've seen Keith survive?" he asked quietly.

"Surely no more than the other paladins," said Merisan, a bit surprised.

"A lot more," said Shiro flatly. "I watched him fight a room full of galra ninjas for _ten hours straight_. He held off Zarkon in single combat. Survived alone surrounded by armies. Keith flew a commandeered ship right into Zarkon's fortress, got all the way to the heart of it to help another Blade, then fought his way back out. What puts him in the hospital? Protecting _Earth_ , the one planet in the whole universe that just...holds nothing for him. I almost had to read a eulogy for him, too."

Merisan blinked. "Did you visit them?" he asked. "The paladins."

"I couldn't," Shiro admitted. "It didn't matter, really. They had people willing to watch over them day and night. Even Keith, thank God. I just..couldn't. They're just kids. They'd _just_ gotten home."

"They saved everyone," said Dr. Merisan softly. "As did you. Artist renderings of the Atlas holding off the zaiforge beams are still quite popular. A symbol of Earth's strength, Earth's defiance."

Shiro wasn't listening. Wasn't really watching the world outside, either, as the sun went down. "I hadn't realized how much I believed in Keith's indestructibility," he said quietly. "Until the medics pulled him out of the Black Lion and ...he was like a bloody, broken doll."

"Surely, with the work the Paladins and Blades have done, and the life he has lived, you have seen Keith injured before," said Dr. Merisan.

"Ten hours of single combat against ninjas far bigger, far more experienced, and he just needed some support back to his Lion," said Shiro distantly. "Haggar's acolyte nearly killed him. Black is the center, the physical heart of Voltron. Those komar swords were stabbing _Keith_."

Dr. Merisan checked his notes from Brice. "So...you hold yourself responsible for their injuries?" he asked carefully. "You must know that you are not. You did not call the acolyte down. You did not point it at Voltron. They accepted the role of paladin, and the risks entailed."

"Because they had to, doctor," said Shiro, a bit bitterly. "They had to or they were never going to get home again at all. They're good people. They cared about the fate of the universe. But they didn't really have a choice about being paladins. The Lions chose them. All I could do was ...help them get there. I couldn't face their parents. I couldn't stand there while they were looking at what the acolyte did to their children and call them heroes. So I went out and made speeches and hoped that at least it wasn't for nothing."

Dr. Merisan considered the information he had, how this had played from the other side. "You do not think that perhaps that is somewhat disingenuous of you?" he asked. "Perhaps they did not have a choice about being paladins. But they had many choices here. Any of them could have walked away. Rescued their own families, perhaps, and then taken off again for the far corners of the universe. You did not have to save Earth specifically. It is my understanding that the authorities were less than helpful at first in any event. So, surely, the paladins saving Earth was because they made the choice to save Earth?"

"Not really," said Shiro. "Keith could've left, yes. Allura could've left. But Hunk's family was in the work camps. Lance's family was in the resistance. And the Holts were trapped in the Garrison."

"Still, there was a choice," said Merisan. "To fight, and not surrender. Even when those in authority over them advised them to do so."

"I taught them that," said Shiro. "To disobey the order when you know it's the wrong one." He sighed. Outside, the sun had set and the lights in the parking lot had come on. "It was such a close thing."

"Did you ever consider that perhaps the _paladins_ would have liked to see _you_ , as they recovered?" asked Merisan.

"They had their families," said Shiro. "And...I couldn't. They were weeks recovering. I couldn't face them. I couldn't face their families."

"Hm." Merisan noted the time, and added a few notes to his pad. "We'll continue tomorrow, I think, Mr. Shirogane. Enjoy your evening."


	27. Gracious Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot being covered here; several days are going by. The Tao of Pidge is gaining converts.

Dr. Merisan's office was utilitarian, and by the standards of the other doctors, unwelcoming. It could have been mistaken for an army surplus record keeper's office; a simple desk, fairly plain chairs, a computer. Not many books on the walls. Merisan wasn't a man who cared much for appearances, and he only rarely took on clients. Takashi Shirogane would most likely be his last consultation, and then he'd find somewhere the galra hadn't shot at or crashed something into and retire.

But for _now_ , well. For now he had a problem to solve, and Shirogane was it.

He could just about see the shape of it. Dr. Merisan was good at seeing the gears of a mind - how all the little cogs interlocked, how this event affected that one. He'd figured out the base structures of the typical galra overseer's mind fairly quickly, but that hadn't really been a challenge. Sadists usually weren't.

But Shiro, now. Shiro was a challenge. They'd gotten past the worst of the PTSD now - in truth the only reason Shiro was still a residential patient was the man didn't really have anywhere to go that he was ready to deal with yet. Most patients at his stage would be driving from home, living with a friend during the rest of the day. That Shiro wasn't doing that wasn't because he had no friends who would take him in - rather, it was that his remaining issues had to do with his _friends_ rather than his enemies. The tortures of the galra and the druids were healing but not _healed_ \- that being purely a matter of time - and sending Shiro to a stressful environment could cause a relapse into old behaviors. No, it was... _cleaner_ , for the moment, to keep him here. Give him a bit more time to let the galra wounds scab over, at least make a start on the man's problems with his friends.

Not that they were bad people. If anything Merisan almost envied the sheer breadth and depth of devotion Shiro seemed to inspire in his friends. The doctors had spoken to all of the surviving paladins now, and as successful as they were, as widely as they were scattered, all of them were willing to do whatever was asked without a moment's hesitation. Keith was really just the most extreme. The Yellow Paladin had given the doctors the consoles. The Green, any record stored on Earth. And Keith had gotten the records from the Empire. The doctors would truly never have gotten this far without their help...but Merisan was suspecting they weren't done asking for that help.

Layers upon layers...

Merisan was eyeing Shiro's cadet record at the Garrison. As he'd said, he'd done very well. A gifted pilot. Academically strong as well, which a lot of pilots weren't. He'd avoided the usual cadet pitfalls offered by parties and low-level breaking and entering, and kept the early years of his relationship with Adam low-key enough that the Garrison had chosen to pretend it didn't notice. Once he'd graduated he'd proceeded to dive headfirst into test pilot work that let him set some quite impressive records - not that Merisan knew anything about aerospace engineering, but he could guess that if a record stood for several years, then it was an impressive record. 

Merisan had Adam's records too - the Green paladin seemed quite willing to forward him whatever he requested, although he wasn't entirely certain she used legal means to acquire them. Adam was...a strong B level student, it seemed. In any group that _didn't_ have Shirogane in it, the man would've been the star. Not because he was perfect, but simply because he was consistently _good_ ; pilots quite often overspecialized. Where Shiro had gone into test piloting - highly regarded, highly dangerous - Adam had taken up teaching, flying only to maintain his certifications or when specifically requested for a mission.

Merisan frowned, studying the records. Adam had definitely benefited from being in Shirogane's shadow. Marks across the board showed a lift, as did instructor evaluations. What had Shiro gotten out of the relationship? He jotted the question down on a notepad, along with his own guesses - either Shiro wanted someone who wasn't competition, or he'd seen Adam as the closest he could get to an equal.

Something about Shiro's grades bothered him though. They were too perfect. Shiro had lost his parents to a car accident not long after being accepted into the garrison's East Asian base program. Most people, suffering a loss like that as a child, a teen - hell, _at all_ \- had a drop in their grades, their work performance. There would be a radical change in their life outlook, at least for a while. Shiro missed about a week of classes to deal with the funeral and family matters...and that was it. That was all. If there was a dip in performance it didn't show at all on his final grades for the semester. The following year he applied for and was accepted for transfer to the Southwest Garrison. The loss wasn't even mentioned when he spoke about his cadet years.

Shiro showed none of the signs of an abuse survivor. The empathy was real, the charm was real too. He clearly didn't feel that he was fundamentally unlikable, or that he inherently deserved punishment. But there was a _terror_ of failure there, a _terror_ of judgment. Merisan had some guesses, but as Dr. Brice's recent misstep demonstrated, with these two it was much, much wiser not to guess if it could be helped.

Dr. Merisan set aside his tablet and notes, and headed for the meeting room - and its console. It was time to request assistance.

~*~

Lance hadn't yet decided what he really wanted to do on Trebi. With the relays in place he'd called home, told his family where he was, all was well, and he'd be home in a while. He did know he wanted to talk with the mystic Alteans, see if there was any kind of ...training, or support groups, or something. But Trebi was _not_ the colony. This wasn't some relatively small enclave of Alteans utterly isolated from everything. The Trebians had been watching and listening for millennia to the whole universe around them. They'd been growing and evolving and developing ways to deal with their circumstances. And as much as it delighted Allura to look through Lance's eyes and see all that, it...wasn't Altea. It bore no more resemblance to the Altea that Allura remembered than Lance's Earth resembled the Earth of Shakespeare's plays. Which was to say - he (and Allura) could see the _roots_ of things - where her Altea had grown into this or that development on Trebi. But much of it was fairly new to Allura, too. Lacking crystals, Trebi had developed other, less concentrated power sources. But unlike Earth, Trebi had always known crystals were still out there. Everything they'd done, they'd done knowing one day they would have crystals again. And Lance did _not_ know what to make of it. On the one hand he was happy for them, he really was. Especially after seeing how culturally crippled the Abyss colonists had been, unable even to fly their own surviving ships. But it was a little intimidating, too, to see just how quickly they were able to use the relay to put out a call for a balmera.

 _You're seeing why everyone's just a little worried about Earth, now, too,_ said Allura gently. _YOU know your people. What they would and wouldn't do...but when it's someone else's people it's harder._

"You're not worried at all?" asked Lance. "Even after what happened at Oriande?"

_Haggar and the darkness were responsible for Oriande_ , said Allura. _Neither of them are here._

Lance blinked. "So it's Haggar, again? I thought she was Honerva now?"

_She certainly thought so. I don't think I agree. Haggar was more than a loss of memory, it was a change in personality. I have a hard time believing Zarkon married the Honerva we met._

" _I_ have a hard time putting 'Zarkon' and 'marriage' into the same sentence," said Lance. "Could we change the subject please?"

Allura reached out to touch his cheek, and though he knew she wasn't really there, he felt the warmth of her fingers anyway and tilted his head into the caress. _Sorry, Lance. It's just...I think sometimes the alternate reality upset you more than you realize. That Altea was a perversion. I think what you're seeing now is closer to what Altea, here, would have become if it hadn't been destroyed. What it may one day be again. But you wanted a change of subject. Why don't you go find Coran? I'd like to know what he's up to now that their castleship is working._

"Sure," said Lance. "I'm guessing you're still not going to put in an appearance."

_...I can only break his heart once, Lance,_ said Allura sadly. _I can't have two anchors and still be able to actually use them to get back when I'm done here. So I can't talk to him the way I can talk to you. He deserves more than intermittent appearances and a vague hope. When I know I can come back we can tell him._

Lance slanted a look at her, which caused a few Alteans to eye a flower patch warily since it was in his line of sight as he walked. "Yeah, and it has nothing to do with how hurt he is that you're gone and he failed you and Alfor, or that you know he's not going to like it that you _can_ talk and you've _been_ talking and didn't tell him you could."

_It's not your decision to make, Lance,_ said Allura firmly.

Lance focused on getting where he was going - the crystal chamber of the castle. That was most likely where Coran would be. "Yeah. I know. I won't tell him without your okay. But the longer you wait the worse that talk's gonna be. Just saying."

Allura pointedly ignored him, which mostly meant that the Alteans he passed along the way back to the castle didn't watch him like he was going to start tap dancing. No one so much as asked him to wait as he headed into the castle and then into its heart, where Coran was fussing with a console and a device in his hand. 

"Hey, Coran," Lance offered. "You're...uh. Looking busy."

"Just trying to get this to talk to the main computer," said Coran, waving a little device in his hand. "Hunk made it for me. It's got all the genetic data of the Abyss colonists. We can see if there are any reunions in the future!" The idea seemed to please him. "But the code for the castle here is different from Allura's."

Lance blinked. On the one hand he was glad Coran hadn't asked him to help with that, because he wouldn't _be_ any help. On the other it was a bit disappointing that Coran seemed to already know that. So he tried, "Well. If you need me to hold something for you, let me know. Is it important, though? I mean, ten thousand years. That's got to be some distant relationships by now."

"Oh, certainly," said Coran absently, scanning code. "Though not maybe as much as you'd think, being human and all. These Alteans have really developed and grown, and if they're related to the Abyss colonists it could help us set up a merging."

"So...Romelle isn't going to rule the Abyss colonists anymore?" asked Lance, who was finding the idea of a 'merging' just a little weird.

"Depends on what happens," said Coran, and jammed a finger down on a key with grand righteousness. "There! Take that, you recalcitrant piece of scrap!"

"Uh. Coran?" asked Lance carefully. "Why are we threatening computers now?"

In response to the dramatic button pressing, a holographic screen lit up over their heads. It didn't look like a family tree so much as a very complicated family hedge, with lots of tiny portraits interlinked by fine blue lines.

"I'm...guessing that's the Abyss colony?" Lance hazarded. Alteans might live a long time, but ten thousand years would still lead to some inbreeding.

Coran nodded. "Means I've finally gotten the castle to see my collection. Now," he bent over the console, typing rapidfire commands. Another screen lit up, and began populating with a rather larger beginning group size. "This is the official census of Trebi," he said. "Cross referenced all birth and death records. It's one of the few things they could still use the old crystal for."

Lance watched it. The Abyss colony had filled in and become distinct in seconds. This one looked more like a cloud condensing. "So...gonna take a while, huh."

"Well," said Coran, "The colony was just me taking pictures and scans of the people that're there right now. _This_ is compiling birth, marriage, and death records into a composite family tree for this whole planet for the past ten thousand years. And _then_ it'll cross reference genetic scans with what I've got."

"Definitely gonna take a while, then," said Lance. And noticed Coran wasn't apparently going to leave it. "...I'll go get some chairs and sandwiches, how about that."

~*~

Romelle was fascinated by the footage. A whole planet, in an actual solar system. Alteans with a big city like the humans had, and spaceships. And a lot of things that Romelle really associated with humans, like movies and television series and news broadcasts and milkshakes. She and a few of the colonists that had come to help her with the paperwork were glued to the broadcast unit in shifts, making notes about whatever the Ares pilots were sending this hour. She'd already asked for copies of all the recordings, since Altea wasn't really on the default broadcast list yet - Coran had set up the castleship as the transmission hub, and no one was _at_ the castleship right now to manage the relay. So Altea would be a little behind, but they'd get the news soon.

The more she watched the more she thought about Kolivan's warning that she needed to consider unifying Altea with Trebi, so that the Altean people presented a united front in the coalition. It was pretty obvious that the two groups had grown in very different directions. And while Romelle might think the Trebians had a rather better and more interesting direction overall, she couldn't say for sure that anyone else on Altea would agree with that. Romelle had found that she was something of an outlier to quite a lot of generally held Altean positions.

It would be a bit behind - they'd need to rebroadcast the arrival, the early meetings - but Romelle put in a request that Earth relay the news from Trebi to Altea. And then put in a call to Hunk's workshop on Altea. He wasn't there yet, but he would be soon, so she left him a message to please get the castleship crystal relay going and then possibly bang a few gongs to get people to watch.

~*~

Casa Holt was on the low end of its perpetual chaos cycle; only Colleen was around, and she was far from the console when the message arrived - she was working on a means of adapting ship hulls to absorb starlight and regulate it such that it could light the greenhouse decks perpetually without taking power from ship systems. A side experiment involved testing minimal gravity and windflow requirements, and since she was working on all three at the same time it was several hours before she took a break. When she emerged onto the main floor of the house and saw the console flashing, she took a look - usually the messages were for Pidge, but this one wasn't. It was, in fact, addressed to the whole household.

She sat through it, absently toweling sweat and muddied dust off herself, and then called the whole family home.

This wasn't _quite_ the panic button it might sound; the Holts were geniuses by birth and hyper-focused eccentrics by training, and all of them were prone to getting lost in their work to the point of forgetting what time (or day, or week) it was. Colleen had laid down the law, therefore - if she called the family home, you by damn _came home_ , and the only excuse she would accept for not doing so would be an invading fleet visible in the sky. (Not 'inbound', not 'on its way', but actually visible in the sky. Because these arguments had been presented, and Colleen's answer was that if you couldn't spend three quarters of an hour to get home then everyone was dead anyway and she wanted the family _together_ for that. It wasn't entirely logical, but given past events, no one really wanted to argue the point with her.)

So, mid-afternoon, everyone made their way home. "What's the problem, honey?" asked Sam, in the bright tone that meant he hoped devoutly it wasn't him. It was a sentiment clearly shared by both her son and her daughter as they followed their father to the couch.

"Not a problem, this time," said Colleen. "A request. One that was sent to _all_ of us." She tapped the table, calling up its holographic keyboard, and fed the message from the paladin console to the room's media viewer. As the message played, everyone else managed to both relax and look extremely interested at the same time - she was right. It wasn't trouble. It was a creative challenge.

"I wondered how long it'd take him to notice the flaws," mused Pidge.

"In my defense it was kind of a rush job," said Sam. "Allura and I used the prototypes that were already finished. And the prosthetics were intended for active duty soldiers. Which Shiro _was_ , at the time."

"Yeah, but I did kinda wonder how you'd get through a grocery line with a floating weaponized arm," said Matt, rubbing his chin. "Okay, so this is a family project now? I'm in."

Colleen said, "Just be mindful of the restrictions. It can't weigh more than his remaining arm, it has to _connect_ to the rest of his body, it has to be proportional so he can maintain physical balance, and if possible he'd like to be able to swap it out for the weaponized version if he needs to."

The other Holts took up their work tablets, already sketching out ideas and tossing them to each other. Except for Pidge, who drew up one knee to rest her chin on. Pidge was thinking.

"Anything you want to add, Pidge?" asked Matt, when he noticed.

"Not right now," said Pidge thoughtfully. "I think I need to put a call in to Olkarion, actually. I mean it's fine Shiro wants a better prosthetic. That's pretty much expected. But we've done so much work with quintessence, and studying Altean medical pods. And I've seen what the Olkari engineers can do with living tissue. Isn't it possible to just.... _grow another arm_?"

"He didn't ask us for that, though," said Sam. 

"He might not know it's possible," said Pidge. "I mean, _I_ don't know if it's possible. So let me go find out, and what it would take, and you guys keep working on this. We'll set out all the options and Shiro can choose."

"We're definitely going to need to do something about that field generator in any case," said Colleen. "I can't imagine Shiro doesn't have constant backaches."

"It was a _prototype_ ," said Sam again, aggrieved. "And we were busy with a war!"

"Yes, and now we're not, and we can make something that's custom designed for _Shiro_ ," said Colleen primly. "Go ahead and talk to the Olkari, honey," she added to Pidge. "The least we can do for Shiro is give the man some options. He's certainly lived without any at all for long enough."

~*~

They'd pretty much set up camp by the console. No need for tents, but there were blankets and cushions, and trays where sandwiches were and bottles of drinks that got cycled in and out as they were emptied. Coran was as close to an anxious mess as Lance had ever seen, and given that he'd seen Coran in quite a few very dangerous and tense situations, that was saying a lot. The project clearly meant a _lot_ to him. So ...Lance stayed, and let Coran babble at him and sing old Altean songs (which were _weird_ to listen to because Lance was almost positive Coran sang some notes that made the walls vibrate) and generally just...try to cope with all the waiting.

And overhead, the database showed more and more results. It was _very_ like watching a time-lapse video of a tree growing. Or maybe a bush. Probably a bush, Lance decided. Faces would appear, link to other faces, generate new faces.

There were dashes, now, too - the computer making tentative genetic links to the records of the Abyss colonists. They wouldn't solidify until the computer reached a particular level of certainty, but they were there. Coran was finding relatives of the colonists on Trebi. The project was _working_. It still had a few generations to go before it could link currently-living Trebians with the surviving colonists, but it was getting there. It had the links.

Allura was fascinated, too. The royal family was recorded because of course it was. Her cousins. She'd examined those records as soon as she saw 'Queen Orla the First' listed, and was interestedly checking in every hour or so to see if another descendant or cousin had popped up. They weren't all royal now - the tangential branches, younger children, weren't socially considered royal. They were out in the city now, as far as Lance could tell - the faces didn't look familiar at least, so they weren't in the palace. Allura didn't just have a family; she had a very big one. Coran had them all flagged, because Altea would need a king or a queen, and it wouldn't really do to hand that to the Trebian royals. Even if the Alteans chose to present a united front, the Alteans tended to the belief that each planet needed its own hands-on administrator. As different as the colonists were from the Trebians, familial bonds - however tenuous - would help them become one people.

Lance was mostly focused on Coran, and keeping Coran from letting his anxiety attacks get the better of him. So it was Allura who got Lance's attention. _It worked. Lance, Hunk did it._

"Did what?" asked Lance, particularly glad right now that he'd gotten the hang of _thinking_ questions at her.

The illusion-ghost-projection of Allura pointed toward the developing family trees. _Can't you see it?_

Lance was glad that whatever it was was making Allura happy, but, "No? It's starting to look like a yarn ball after a family of kittens gets done with it, to be honest. What is it?"

Allura laughed and waved her hand. She didn't change what was there, but she did sort of draw a circle in the air around a specific set of photographs, and one of the computer's tenuous genetic links to the colonists. Lance's jaw dropped. "Coran? _Coran_ has relatives here?"

_He did, at least,_ said Allura. _It's not really impossible. His grandfather built our castleship. It's not like he'd stop at_ one _, right? His family were engineers the way Pidge's family are scientists. The similarities between Trebi's castleship and ours are probably not accidental. You don't mass-produce_ castles _, after all._

Lance looked toward Coran, who hadn't noticed it yet. No surprise there, it probably took being whatever Allura currently was to notice the lone connection in the pile of marriages, births, and deaths. "I hope they're still around," he said seriously. "I don't know what it'd do to him to know that some of his family made it this far, only to die out before he woke up."

_That's why I wanted you to see it,_ said Allura. _You need to keep an eye on it as the processing goes on. If there are surviving descendants he needs to see it. But if there aren't...it's better if his attention gets diverted when this program's done._

"No kidding," sighed Lance, rubbing the back of his neck. "By the way...do you have any ideas for how I can...function better, as your anchor or whatever? I mean. If you're going to be a while...is it better for me to stay on Earth the whole time, or not?"

Allura looked chagrined. _I never meant to make you a recluse, Lance. I spent too much of my life sequestered. I'd never wish that on you. I didn't know that doing this to you would ...have that effect. I'm still learning what my power can do, and what I need to do with it. I don't have any ideas, I'm afraid. But I do think you've got a good idea. The Trebians have had to live without the training of Oriande for generations. But they do have mystics, and clearly they've worked out a lot of possibilities that Altea simply ignored. Once we've helped Coran, we should look for a mystic who can sense our connection - that will be your best teacher._

Coran came to sit by Lance, looking up at the cloud of forming connections. "It's really wonderful, isn't it?" he said. "Two groups, separated by most of the universe for thousands of decaphoebs. But there are still connections. This is going to mean a lot to the Alteans when I get it back to them."

"Yeah," Lance agreed, wondering if Coran's cousins had survived. He really hoped they had, though he had no idea what to expect. Coran was just...weird. He was pretty sure that if Altea had _chosen_ someone to be the teacher of the Last Altean, Coran would...not have been it. But he'd done a pretty good job even so. He knew a lot more than he let on, and crazy as he often seemed, he was a bad guy to back into a corner and a good one to have at your side in a fight. Provided you gave him enough room to be himself. Maybe that did make him the best teacher for Allura, really. Because if you were the last of your kind, there had to be a lot of pressure to fit in with people around you, rather than being yourself. Coran couldn't not-be-himself if he _tried_. There were definitely worse examples.

~*~

The doctors gathered. There wasn't much sign of exhaustion among them now. The coffee was a courtesy rather than a necessity, and the peculiar finger foods from Hunk's gifted chef were sampled with curiosity as they settled their notes.

"I must say, when Mr. Shirogane commits himself the results are...unquestionable," said Dr. Pender. "Merisan, would you please fill us in on your findings?"

"I've had to request the Green Paladin acquire some files from Mr. Shirogane's life as a minor," said Dr. Merisan. "I believe I have the shape of events now. I may even have the shape of Keith's place in all this from Mr. Shirogane's perspective, although that will require further testing."

"He didn't ask you for the summary," said Schlessinger, a bit dourly. "We can read the synopsis quickly enough. What's going _on_? He gets his arm back and that camera feed becomes an all day fitness feed. It's not like he needed it to exercise with, so what's going _on_?"

Merisan raised a finger. "He did," he said. "I believe he felt...un-whole, as it were, without the arm. A danger. The fitness regimen is, I suspect, part of his early life that has ingrained itself. He simply _feels better_ after a workout. It doesn't appear to be about looks, or the results of fitness per se - strength, stamina, et cetera. He simply feels better. Take it as a good sign; he has enough hope now to wish to take care of himself."

Dr. Brice said, "You said you have an idea how Mr. Shirogane relates to Keith. Do share. I have hit rather a wall, myself. Although the fact that both Keith and my contact appear to be on a wilderness retreat of some kind has a lot to do with that."

Dr. Merisan called up some files on everyone's tablets. "Shirogane is what some might call a gifted man," he said. "The loss of an arm and his traumas have made it...perhaps not the first thing people notice. But what let him survive all this is simply the fact that he is gifted. His parents are dead _now_ , but he is not an orphan as such; he was never a ward of the state. He was raised and taught by parents who I suspect knew exactly how rare their child was. Japan's academic system is rigorous and competitive, but even by that standard Mr. Shirogane excelled. Yet, no signs of abuse as such. He has a quick and capable mind, and the fitness regimen that was likely begun to give him as many years as his early life disease would allow for made him capable in physical activities as well."

Dr. Pender flicked idly though the pages of report cards and teacher evaluations. "Remind me never to annoy the Green paladin," he said. "She dug all this up, even considering how much was lost in the invasion?"

"I'm sure you have a point to all this besides hero worship, Merisan," sighed Schlessinger, reading through the cards. "If this were any other child's grades I'd suspect tampering."

"That would be at least part of my point, Schlessinger," said Merisan. "We know he felt driven because the disease he was diagnosed with gave him a life expectancy of at most twenty-five to thirty. But there simply aren't enough hours in the day for someone to be this good at this many things without some degree of natural aptitude as well. Mr. Shirogane was a gifted child. He was _raised_ as a gifted child."

Dr. Brice was scowling at her tablet. "...With the attendant developmental difficulties, that's what you're saying," she said. "But by these reports he made friends easily."

"I suspect both the different culture and his tendency to welcome physical activity were part of that, Dr. Brice," said Merisan. "Most gifted children stay indoors, with their books and their advanced studies. Mr. Shirogane could not, because a sedentary lifestyle would _kill_ him. So he was involved heavily in team sports, which allowed him to be more socialized. So. We have someone who is beloved by his teachers, welcomed by his peers. Who is repeatedly told he can do anything at all, of whom a great deal is expected. Who does not expect his peers to _be_ his peers, because _he_ is the one of whom greatness is expected, and he is the one who is blamed if perfection is not achieved. He reaches the Garrison, on a full scholarship. He repeats his process and finds it works well in the military atmosphere. He is a hero, a breaker of records, a role model to children not much younger than himself." He waggled the tablet in his fingers. "Of whom the world is expected. And thus he is responsible for the whole world."

Dr. Pender nodded slowly. "So when he is captured, he takes responsibility for protecting the younger Holt without question. He focuses on getting word to Earth because it is his responsibility to spread the warning. He takes command of a group of cadets because who else is there remotely qualified...and so on and so on."

"You said you see how this ties into his relationship with Keith," said Dr. Brice.

"Keith is also a gifted child," said Merisan. "But, as it were, a wild one. I believe he chose Keith as his mentor project because he witnessed Keith's piloting skill and realized here was someone like himself. The bit where Keith was also a juvenile delinquent with violent tendencies was irrelevant to Mr. Shirogane at the time. Keith was a prodigy. Mr. Shirogane is a prodigy. But at the time, Mr. Shirogane had a timer on his life. He chose a gifted child to be his successor because only a gifted child _could_ be."

Brice blinked, pieces falling into place. "Gifted children often feel they have to earn love," she said. "If they do not succeed - if they do not _excel_ \- then they are unworthy, they have failed. They set impossibly high standards for themselves because everyone around them has great expectations of them, and quite often end depressed because no one can meet those standards." She leaned back in her chair, thinking. "That does explain it. Why Mr. Shirogane seems to be hurt when Keith is not here, even though he has rarely expressed a direct desire for his presence. Part of him reads Keith's absence as a judgment on his recent behavior. That he's failed and is not worthy of Keith's faith...but at the same time he very much wants that faith. He expects much of Keith because he sees Keith as a genuine peer, but Keith was not raised as a gifted child and knows when the expectations are unrealistic. At the same time, he thinks highly of Mr. Shirogane and wants to meet those expectations for his sake."

Dr. Schlessinger looked between the two doctors. "So...we have an arrogant son of a bitch and a neophyte stalker and we're _happy_ that that somehow works?" He looked toward Pender. "Sounds like we've got a choice here. If Merisan finishes treating Mr. Shirogane, is there going to be any need for Keith in his life when he's done?"

"It means they work when they're together," said Pender. "Which is demonstrably true and the results are impressive. I don't know about you, but I would rather not have the savior of Earth living out his days as an inpatient here. Something broke their interdependence. If we can mend that, they can take the rest of the trip on their own."

Brice nodded. "Since the bond Keith created means they would have to actually take more steps to be apart than to remain together, that does seem the best way to help both of them."

Schlessinger, who tended to dislike this sort of matchmaking, just harrumphed. "All right then. What _broke_? Too much saving? Philandering? What?"

"The two souls," said Merisan. "The second Shiro, Ryou, was never a child. There is no concept there of the gifted child, of parental expectation. He was made to fight a war, woke up in the middle of said war, and the war was his focus. His expectations of Keith were, I think, taken from borrowed memory and used as the focus of the wedge that Haggar required to keep her clone distant enough from the other paladins. Now that we have examined those days for outside tampering, there is much less need for concern."

Dr. Brice eyed her tablet. "And you're certain that he wants Keith?" she asked. "As I don't think I've seen much evidence of that."

"That is what I will test," said Merisan, nodding. "Keith comes up repeatedly in our sessions and is clearly important to Mr. Shirogane on several levels. But for this to proceed, if it will proceed, he must acknowledge what his true feelings are - whatever they may turn out to be. Teacher to student, master to apprentice, elder brother to younger, or lover to lover. Mr. Shirogane is not and apparently never has had much time or use for introspection. That has ceased to be a helpful mental strategy."

"Whatever he decides, we will be abiding by it, Dr. Schlessinger," said Pender firmly. "So there will be no matchmaking here unless that is what both parties need and desire."

Schlessinger nodded. "I find that acceptable."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * While Shiro's new arm (S7/8) had interesting abilities and symbolism, I couldn't get over the fact that _as a prosthetic arm_ it is hellishly impractical. But I do find the question interesting - if you've lost your arm, and you have the choice of replacing it with a prosthetic that can do all kinds of things and maybe swap out for a fearsome weaponized version _or_ just growing a new flesh and blood arm...which would be more attractive?
> 
> * I wish to extend my apologies to all the readers that have hung in there this long for my use of 'tiger mom'. I meant something specific by its use and wasn't aware of how the term has evolved or how it is seen, and as it turned out 'how it is seen' wasn't the specific thing I was trying to refer to anyway. I hope that in this chapter I have clarified a bit more what was actually meant, and will not be using that specific phrase again.


	28. Crazy Words, Moustache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the first of the happy endings. Coran deserved better than S8 gave him; I hope with this I have rectified the situation.

_Lance, get up._

Lance blinked blearily. He'd slept on the ground more than a few times, and the cargo bay floor of Red for weeks, so the castleship floor wasn't really a problem for him. Allura poking his sleeping brain wasn't new either, though usually it was rather more intimate than currently. Sadly, you couldn't swat someone who mainly manifested as tricks of the eye and a voice in your mind, so he sat up and tried to get his eyeballs to function. "Whazzit."

_Look, Lance. The computer has finished. Coran is going to be so happy._

Lance stretched and tested the idea of standing up. The display was still mostly blur. His ears told him that the castle was largely asleep. "So he's got relatives then."

_Two still alive,_ Allura agreed. _A mother and her son. He's a cousin from something like thirteen generations ago, which is about how closely I'm related to anyone here, but they're descendants of a sort._

Lance reached for the cup of juice that was by what had been the informal 'sustenance station' for the past few days since Coran wasn't leaving the program to run alone. "That's...really distant." He looked over to where Coran was peacefully and honestly kind of thunderously snoring. He hadn't really been sleeping much lately; that kind of thing caught up to you sooner or later.

Allura, however, was happy enough to twirl. _He has_ family _, Lance. People who will want to meet him and hear all his stories and_ -

"You are _definitely_ getting ahead of yourself," Lance decided tiredly. He stretched until the kinks were out of his back and he could sort of semi-coherently work his way through more than ten words at once. He wasn't sure what Coran's reaction would be to the news, really. Other than his grandfather, who had kind of sounded like a drunk-fu architect of sorts, Coran hadn't really talked about his family. _Allura's_ family, yes, lots. But not his own. Lance was sure Hunk and Allura meant well, though, and he was willing to trust their instincts. His vision clearing into properly awake status, he looked up at the cloud of connections. "Okay, Allura. Show me what I've got to do so that connection's what he sees first."

Allura obligingly made the right keys shine to his vision. It was slow, one-finger typing, but no one else was awake anyway. He hit the final key and a printout began, showing the surviving Trebians who were related to the living Abyss colonists, ranked in order of degree. And right at the top was Coran's name and picture, and the two Trebians that were his last remaining family. Lance studied the pictures, and glanced at the shimmer of Allura. She really did seem _very_ pleased with herself. Lance had a complex - loving, but _complex_ \- relationship with his own family, and thus wasn't as overtly delighted. "...Do you want me to wake him up?" he asked. "Or is it enough that he'll see this when he does?"

The question might as well have been asking a five year old whether it was okay to wake the parents up on Christmas morning. Lance could swear Allura was biting her lip. She didn't want to hurt Coran. On the other hand she was clearly _very_ interested in finding out his reaction.

Lance stretched and went back to the little pad that was serving currently as a bed. "Let him _sleep_ , Allura. Whatever happens when he sees that printout, it's probably not going to be the kind of reaction you can easily miss." He tugged the light blanket back around himself. "Like, I'm really sure you won't have to wake me a second time, put it that way."

It felt like only seconds later when he was proven right. He honestly wouldn't have put it past Allura to have made sure it _was_ seconds, but he could hear people moving around the castleship and knew she'd let him - and Coran - sleep.

Which was probably good, because what woke Lance up was Coran _bawling_. Like, full-on 'two year old has lost his binky' level of unabashed loud bawling.

Lance couldn't sense Allura just then, but knew better than to think she wasn't watching. She just didn't know what to do, or what it meant. He got up and went over to Coran, asking, "What's wrong?" as if he didn't know very well what had set this off. He promptly got hugged hard enough to make breathing a bit of an issue, as Coran latched on to him for support.

Going home had been a really good idea in some respects. It meant among other things that Lance wasn't fazed by being clung to or sobbed on by someone rather older than himself. He just patted Coran's back soothingly and focused on not letting Coran's clinging deprive him of actual oxygen, until some kind of emotional coping ability returned to the vicinity. When there was enough of a pause in the sobbing that Lance thought he could probably let Coran go without picking him up off of the floor, he carefully asked, "You gonna be okay? Anything I can do?"

For answer, Coran shoved the printout at him. "...The Queen needs to see this," he managed, his voice rough from the tears. 

Lance took it, folded it up - it was a bit crumpled now, but that was fine, there were plenty of electronic versions. "Are _you_ gonna be okay?" he asked. Since the top page made the situation obvious, he added, "...Do you want to meet them? These people?"

"I don't...know," Coran admitted, sounding like he might start crying again. "Just take it to her majesty, please? I'll - I'll be fine. I promise. Just give me a minute to clear the space dust in here."

Lance patted him on the back, finished folding the printout, and said, "Okay. I'll take it to her and come right back."

He didn't want to particularly. He'd much rather have grabbed the nearest Trebian and said 'go get the Queen', except that there were probably limits even for paladins. Especially paladins that didn't have their lions anymore. So he headed for the great hall, and was surprised that just the sight of him holding a hefty printout was enough to cause people to make way, clearing a path right to the queen.

"I see that Coran's duty to Altea is fulfilled," said the Queen, eyeing the printout. "And we are still perhaps more one people than we thought."

"I think Coran figures the next step is yours," said Lance, holding it out. "I mean, nobody's _closely_ related. But...yeah. It looks like a lot of people have some distant family on Altea."

The old queen took the printout, noticing the first page. "And one person has family here on Trebi," she said, understanding. "I need a swift runner. We will honor our guest." She started poking through the pages. "...Let me amend that. Send every runner in the city here. We have a great deal of news to deliver and it should be done with living mouths."

"I'm...I'm gonna go back to the crystal chamber," said Lance, as the great hall seemed to shift into overdrive. "Probably wouldn't be a bad idea if I went back with a pile of hankies."

~*~

The crocodiles had not been a problem. There was now enough crocodile meat in the house for a few weeks, along with skins that Zethrid fully planned to turn into bandoliers and gauntlets, with lots of teeth for decoration.

That would have to wait, though, because picking a fight with a mob of kangaroos _had_ been a problem. Keith was unclear as to whether it was being surprised by how the creatures fought, or just being overwhelmed by a bunch of them (and he wasn't sure he wanted to even know how she'd managed to piss off a _bunch_ of them) but it had taken an emergency call from Ezor to Keith and Acxa, and Kosmo willing to growl and bark enough to cause the 'roos to retreat just to get Zethrid out of there. Keith had been very clear about No Blasters for the trip, but he came fairly close to disregarding the rule in the process of getting Zethrid out of the danger zone.

Medical facilities for galra having been pretty much forcibly dismantled on Earth, Ezor took Zethrid to the _Janus_ , where they had medical pods. Somewhat to Ezor's surprise, Keith stayed with them.

"You've got your mate down there, though," said Ezor. "Isn't that like...an important thing?"

"They'll call when they want my help," said Keith. "The doctors seem to know what they're doing. He's getting better. Right now I should be here."

Ezor blinked. "She doesn't need help, now. The medical pod will take care of everything, and I can watch to make sure it doesn't break down or anything."

"Ezor," said Acxa quietly. "He is our _commander_. He is _her_ commander. Now, do you want the crocodile carcasses up here to work on, or at the house?"

"I'll work on the hides," said Ezor, still evidently working out what was going on. "Zethrid can't sew easily, with the one eye."

"We can talk to someone about that, if she wants," Keith offered. "I mean once we're back on duty we'll have the funds."

Ezor smiled. "I'll ask her. She might like one of those scary looking cybernetic lenses. Like Sendak had. She really thought that was neat."

Acxa bowed. "I'll get the meat stowed and bring the carcasses for you to work on," she said. "You two can stay here until she wakes up."

Once she'd gone, Ezor said, "You don't really have to stay. It's not like Zethrid's going to wake up for a while. Those beasts could really kick."

Keith regarded Ezor for a few moments. "She needs to know I have her back," he said, thinking out every word, to be sure Ezor understood. "She was down and out by the time Acxa and I came to help. I'll be here when she wakes up so she can see for herself that I know this happened."

Ezor's head tilted. "Blood thing," she decided with a little sigh. "We need to drag your mate up here, so I don't feel like the only blind person. I know _I_ need to be here."

"I dunno," shrugged Keith. "At least you have a reason for not knowing. Me, I'm always sorting out what I'd _rather_ have happen from what I _need_ to have happen."

"Acxa's good at that," Ezor agreed. "So's Zethrid...well. Most of the time. Knowing, anyway. Not so much the talking."

Keith went to get some chairs. "So we'll stay by her medical pod and play cards."

Ezor grinned the 'oh I am so going to take every credit you have' grin. " _Really_. Well that's awfully nice of you, boss. What planet are we playing today?"

Keith gave her a bland look. "Have I explained five card stud yet?"

~*~

The homecoming was pretty quiet for explorers who'd just made contact with Earth's nearest neighbors, but Griffin wasn't the only one to find that a relief. Flying over the familiar continents of Earth was more welcoming than any parade, as was touching down on the familiar landing strip of the Southwest Garrison. There were people waiting, of course. Landing crews, flight crews, people who would have been there for any other flight.

"I am absolutely sinking my teeth into a burger," said Kinkade as they got out of their ships. "Don't think I saw a single actual _meat_ anything."

"I did," said Rizavi. "But they're definitely not in favor of a meat-heavy diet. I think I'll join you for that burger."

"Leifsdotter, you should probably stick with me," said Griffin. "We're probably going to be wanted for a debriefing."

"Of course," said Leifsdotter, and looked around the hangar. "...Do you think we can get a shower and change first? We didn't pack for the length of stay we....stayed."

"Good call," said Griffin firmly. "Right. Shower and change."

The group split up, presumably because Rizavi and Kinkade wanted their burgers _before_ a shower. And it wasn't as if the Trebians had made them lie around dirty or anything. But they'd taken the pilots' clothes every day to clean them, and it just _felt better_ to take a proper Earth shower and then wear something _else_. Even another uniform was still _different clothes_ , even if it didn't look like it from the outside.

Still, Griffin was surprised in a there-went-dating-prospects-for-a-month kind of way to come out of the shower in his quarters to find General Hutchins sitting in a chair in his main room. Firmly not saluting, because saluting would mean losing the towel and a whole host of possible reprimands, Griffin managed a 'sir' that didn't squeak but couldn't do anything about the full-body blush.

"At ease," said the general calmly, as if that were ever likely to happen now. "Get clothes on and we'll talk."

"Yessir," said Griffin, and almost bolted for his room. Ten feet had never seemed like such a huge distance before. But the general didn't follow him into the bedroom, which was a relief. He snagged a fresh uniform and got dressed with record speed, though he lost a few seconds making sure he'd done so correctly before walking back out to sit with the general.

"Much better," said Hutchins. "This debrief is off the record, in case you had any doubts. Tell me what you found."

Griffin thought about it. "...They're friendly neighbors, sir," he said at last. "Really. Genuinely friendly. We poked everywhere we could, and they didn't so much as tell us an area was restricted even once. We sent you the footage. They've got every reason to be careful around us - they've seen just about everything you could see of us. But they're just...not worried."

The general leaned back in his chair. "Hm. Why do you think that is?"

"I swear I have no idea," said Griffin. "But it made us feel badly about trying to push them, sir. I included the Blade intelligence report in my own, and they explored other areas and tested stuff and it's the same. And they're _galra_ , sir. It's like...once the queen told them we were okay, that was it. Question answered, door's open."

Hutchins nodded slowly. "All right. Let's say she hadn't. Let's say the Trebians decided to make trouble. How much trouble could they make?"

"Uh." Griffin considered what he'd seen. "Right now? Not much. I mean if we sent the Atlas over _right now_ , and all the fighters we've got, we could probably take them out. But they've put out a call for a balmera, sir, and once it arrives I give it a month tops before they could steamroller us right into the ground. The Altean tech we've been learning from is ten thousand years old, sir. The Trebians have had a long time to build on that, improvise from it. I've got no doubt at all that once they can plug crystals into their toys we're going to see something pretty amazing."

"Did you get any blueprints?" asked Hutchins. "In all this unrestricted access you had?"

"Well...no, sir," said Griffin awkwardly. "I'm not an engineer, sir. None of the pilots are. You might ask Hunk next time he's in the area."

That got Griffin a dark, don't-get-smart-with-me glare, but the general only said, "I'm asking _you_. I want your personal assessment of our new neighbors."

Damn. Exactly what Griffin really didn't want to do. Even off the record. Because he wasn't really sure _what_ to make of the Trebians, and now he needed to come up with an opinion. "...Honestly sir, it's not that they _couldn't_ make trouble for us. We saw some of their histories, and they've been coming to Earth every century or so for a very very long time. Leifsdotter thinks, and I agree, that they're probably where at least _some_ of our stories of gods, elves, and so on come from. But the problem there is determining _which_ stories and why, sir. Once you figure the stories were built around actual events...well, Leifsdotter pointed out that 'unreliable narrator' probably applies, and historically speaking humans haven't exactly been the nicest neighbor even to other humans. There's no way to tell what some fifth-century-BC king thought of the Trebians that came asking about cows or something. They've got every reason to be careful around us - they've watched us _grow up_. But I think _because_ they've been watching us grow up, they're kind of...proud of us? That we're able to do what we've done?" He shrugged. "I think they're not our enemies unless we _make_ them our enemies, sir. But I think if we do that, it wouldn't surprise them. It wouldn't be anything new."

It was not what Hutchins wanted to hear, clearly, but he sighed and stood up. "It seems you place a lot of value in what Leifsdotter has to say."

"She has a unique mind, sir," said Griffin. "When it comes to noticing and analyzing details, there really isn't anyone better."

"Is that so," said Hutchins. "Well. I'll leave you to your day, Griffin." Without another word, the general departed.

Griffin carefully exhaled. Right. Better call Leifsdotter and tell her a general was about to turn up on her doorstep.

~*~

On Earth, it would have been surrounded by a crowd, and at least a dozen cameras who would set the scene to some soft violin score. On Trebi, Queen Orla made sure that Coran's meeting with his familial descendants was a private affair. The two surviving descendants of Coran's sister Leda - whom he had had every reason to believe died in the Galra attack on Altea - were summoned to the palace and shown to a private room. Lance came in soon after - not entirely happily, because he felt very much that this was a Private Moment and not one he was meant to see, but Coran seemed to need the emotional support. And the help talking, which was pretty weird on its own. Or maybe not; Lance remembered the moments of tension when they'd first returned to Earth, the sons and daughter feared dead now present in the flesh.

Coran's descendants didn't seem particularly...Coran-ish. But - ten thousand years. Lance was finally getting a real sense of just _how long_ , how much time, separated Coran (and Allura) from the universe they'd known. He wasn't horrible at maths or conversions, but ten thousand years of genetic drift had to be kind of a lot. A mother, who seemed maybe middle-aged however the Trebians measured that in years, and a son just out of his apparent teens. The boy leaned forward to get a cup of juice and Lance noticed the sparkle of sequins. Okay, maybe these _were_ Coran's kin.

"So...you're a Paladin of Voltron, then?" said the boy. "Everyone says you are. Is that because you're half Altean?"

"I'm not half Altean," said Lance. "The marks are a gift from a friend. But yeah. I was a paladin of Voltron. I flew Blue, and then Red."

"That's why three lions in the plaza, then," nodded the mother. "One for Red, one for Blue, one for White."

Lance backpedaled. "I never saw the white lion. That was Shiro."

"Alchemy, she means," said the boy. "The white lion in the plaza means you could go to Oriande."

"Uh," said Lance, now wishing he hadn't agreed to this. "I...yeah. It's ...gone. Oriande is, I mean. It's gone."

Lance was saved from having to go into details with the two now-very-interested Trebians by Coran coming in. He'd really dressed for the occasion, too. It was magnificent, in a circus kind of way. Lance could see bits of what he'd been told to wear to court Allura, but this time fitted and covered in beautiful materials. It didn't change the fact that under all the fine clothing Coran looked really, really nervous. "Um. Hello," he offered awkwardly. "I'm Coran."

"Yes, we know," said the older woman, but she was polite about it. "You came from Altea. The real Altea. Everyone has been talking about it. I'm Elisana. This is my son Gregory."

"Gregory?" asked Coran, curious and cautiously proud. "After King Groggery?"

"No one uses that form anymore," said Gregory. "But yeah. Why?"

"He was my second favorite king!" said Coran proudly. "I mean. After Alfor, of course."

"Coran," nudged Lance pointedly. "You should tell them why they're here."

"Oh. Yes. Of course," said Coran, reddening. "I - you know about the genetic database I brought, yes? To see if the colonists on Altea might have family here?" Both Trebians nodded. "Well...you two have family." He coughed, almost not daring to look at them. "It's...me. You - you both trace back to my sister, Leda. I ...didn't know she'd escaped Zarkon's purges. I guess I'm a kind of ...uncle?"

Lance couldn't help holding his breath. He _did_ cross his fingers, for luck, behind his back. But he needn't have bothered.

Elisana stood up and held out her arms. "Then we are honored," she said warmly. "Friend of the paladins, restorer of Trebi, we couldn't ask for a better addition to the family."

Gregory wasn't as effusive, possibly teenage male dignity was in play, but he did stand up, nod agreement, and shake Coran's hand. "Uncle sounds good," he agreed. "I bet you've got a ton of great stories."

Lance held himself back from facepalming. The magic words had been spoken and the floodgates were about to open. He got to his feet. "I can see you've got a lot of catching up to do," he said brightly. "I'll just leave you to it, shall I?"

_Oh, Lance, I wanted to watch them get to know him,_ said Allura fondly.

"You can stay then," said Lance firmly. "You wouldn't be intruding. I would." He slipped out quickly, but he was relieved to see Coran back to crying happy tears. Gregory was already starting a recounting of what he knew of his family history, since his mother and Coran were in no shape to talk.

~*~

The Family Holt didn't really unite on much beyond 'science good'. Colleen was into botany and life sciences, Sam was an experimental engineer, Matt had gotten heavily into networks and security, and Pidge bounced from discipline to discipline depending on the needs of the moment and her personal sense of curiosity. Which was, to a degree, true of the rest of her family as well, but she was by far the most egregious example.

They all liked Shiro, though. And the message had been sent to all of them. The challenge had been accepted.

Colleen worked on the physical connection and defining the upper and lower limits of size and density. She had the best grasp of anatomy and how muscles were and weren't used. Under her hands a new interface took shape; one which could function like the existing one on Shiro's body, but smaller, lighter, more powerful. It would connect in a more ball-and-socket manner to a 'daily use' prosthetic, but revert to free energy field when he needed to use the weaponized arm.

The dimension and weight restrictions were mostly for Sam, who was prone to getting carried away by possibilities. The arm would be the same size and weight as Shiro's flesh and blood arm, and use a Balmera crystal for power. He built in everything he could, because otherwise what was the point in anything - lockpicks, scanners, a hand computer similar to paladin gauntlets. He made it as strong as he could, and as sensitive as he could, so that Shiro could rip a car door off its hinges or balance an egg on his fingers.

Matt handled the software. Remembering how the connections had left Shiro vulnerable to mental assault, he built in a number of self-diagnostic systems and internal firewalls intended to let Shiro know if someone was even _attempting_ to access his arm's programming. He built in every encryption method he'd learned from years of flying with the rebel fleet and decrypting Galra transmissions, and a few he'd developed since then.

Pidge, however, was trying a different solution altogether. Leaving Earth behind, at least for a little while, she took her own ship via wormhole out to New Olkarion.

New Olkarion, having been chosen by the Olkari long before the Acolyte came to destroy their homeworld, was as much an engineer's dream as a planet was capable of being. They'd chosen a world rich in biodiversity, and then gently but persistently bent a great deal of it into exactly what they needed. Their capital was inorganic quite possibly as a courtesy to offworlders who understood only one meaning for 'technology'.

Besides, it gave the inorganic ships somewhere to land that wouldn't warp anything.

Pidge was welcomed with the respect Olkari reserved for minds that could keep up with them, and the current chief engineer was Doerk. "My great-aunt had good things to say about you, Green Paladin," he greeted. "I'm sorry she didn't make it."

"I know," said Pidge. "I got her messages, before the weblum ate Olkarion. You've done pretty good things here. She'd be proud."

"I hope you've come with a challenge," said Doerk, in the amused tones that said he knew very well that the Green Paladin _only_ turned up with challenges.

Pidge offered a tablet containing Shiro's physical specs and the restrictions. "I have," she agreed. "I can do a lot with anything inorganic. But I thought I'd come by and ask how you're doing with organic engineering. I'd like to see if we can give the Black Paladin his arm back."

There was a murmur from the Olkari around her - excited, fascinated. She had, indeed, come with a worthy challenge.

Doerk grinned and bowed. "I think we'd be honored to try. Let's see what your parameters are."

"Let me know if I can help," said Pidge, handing the tablet over. "I can't stay long - you know how it is with taking your eye off a current project. So if I can help, let me know soon."

Of course, Holts did tend to lose track of time when the science was particularly fascinating...

~*~

Dr. Merisan sat down in his chair, nodding a greeting toward Shiro.

"I've been thinking about it," said Shiro quietly, his attention apparently on the parking lot outside. "I don't ...see how it _doesn't_ make me a horrible person. I mean...right on the face of it."

"Those who would present as universal moral guardians," said Merisan calmly, "prefer to deal in simple and easily communicable absolutes. X is always bad, Y is always good. When they cannot do that it quite often gets bogged down in issues of semantics and special cases. I am afraid, Mr. Shirogane, that the entire universe is nothing but special cases. We build laws to try and shear off the most inexcusable, we seek absolutes...but the reality is that a human life - any human life - is almost never so easy to define. _That said_ , Mr. Shirogane, no one familiar with your case would accuse you of immoral behavior. You said nothing. You did nothing. And your moment of attraction was not, as you described it to me, one predicated on control or innocence."

Shiro frowned down at the parking lot. "But I did have a fiancee at the time. And Adam and I were happy together. So there's no excuse there."

Merisan sighed, but kept it quiet and controlled. "Let's go over it again, shall we? What _exactly_ was the moment?"

Shiro shrugged. "Maybe a year before Kerberos. So...Keith would've been sixteen. Which, no matter what spin you put on things, is still jailbait in most of the world. We were sparring during one of his free periods. I'd encouraged that because it let him work out his stress, his anger and frustration at all the rules, tire him out a bit before afternoon classes. And mostly he'd picked up on anything I showed him fairly quickly. Not as strong as me, but a lot faster. That day he took it too a new level. He didn't disarm me - he let me swing at him, then used my own movement as his shield while he slid _under_ me. Right between my legs and then he was behind me with his knife at my spine, laughing because his trick had worked." Shiro's expression softened; a little wistful, a little sad. "And I looked at him, all proud and confident and the sweat plastering his hair in his eyes and ...he was magnificent."

Merisan nodded slowly. "And you were attracted to him as something other than a ward, or a student."

"He was _sixteen_ , doctor," said Shiro quietly. "You can't tell me that's right."

Dr. Merisan inhaled slowly. They really had been over this several times now, but Shiro wasn't letting it go. "Then tell me, Mr. Shirogane. What did you do, with this moment of attraction?"

Sounding almost as if he were chiding himself, Shiro said, "I told him good job, congrats on his victory, and go get showered before he had to report for afternoon class."

Merisan eyed Shiro. "Did you, perhaps, watch the boy go to the showers?"

"No," said Shiro firmly.

"Touch him, perhaps?" asked Merisan.

Shiro looked down. "A hand on his shoulder. He - you should have seen how he glowed, that I was proud of him."

"A hand," said Merisan slowly, "on his clothed shoulder. Did you perhaps let the hand linger?"

"No." Shiro took a deep breath. Then another. "No. Not proper."

"Let us cut to the chase, then, Mr. Shirogane," said Merisan. "Tell me if you believe you did anything, anything at all, that was improper for Keith's mentor and instructor to do."

"It's not what I did, doctor," said Shiro shortly. "It's that I wanted to."

"And it is my place and duty to tell you, Mr. Shirogane, that having such flashes are normal for any person. What separates the mature adult from the pederast and the pedophile is the ability and the willingness to then _let that feeling go_ , without acting on it." Merisan was patient, but there was an edge creeping into his voice because they'd been over this several times. "And yes. In that definition is included using your superior experience to manipulate situations such that the child or youth _thinks_ they are making a free choice that is anything but. Mr. Shirogane, you did not do this. You did not act on that moment of attraction. You did not abuse his trust, or your authority, and you certainly did not set up your later constant association with the Paladins of Voltron."

Shiro returned his attention to the parking lot, almost sullen. "He was the only one of them I really knew. I knew _about_ Pidge, but I'd never seen her in action and she was easily the youngest of them. I knew what Keith could do, what he was capable of...he was an excellent second."

"Seventeen is generally considered a gray area," said Merisan mildly. "Socially, if not legally. But he was eighteen, was he not? The oldest of the four under your command."

"You can't...do that, not in a group like that one," said Shiro slowly. "It screws up the team dynamics horribly and we _couldn't_ just send out for a replacement. It had to be the five of us. Exactly the five of us. It didn't take me long to realize Keith would ...be willing. But if I _had_ \- I mean even setting aside that doing that would be cruel when my life was on a very short timer by then - if I _had_ , it would have completely screwed the whole team up. Pidge would've been a dating target, not a comrade in arms. So would Allura. And if by some miracle the boys got their heads around 'we shouldn't try dating the girls we're working with' when I'd set the worst example already, they'd still be alone in deep space and confronted every day with the fact that I _wasn't_. Lance was vicious enough about Keith being my second. I don't think he'd have handled watching Keith and I really be together at all well."

Merisan nodded slowly. "So, although you still had that attraction, again you did nothing to act on it. Not a word or a sign in private, even?"

Shiro almost, _almost_ quirked a faint echo of a smile. "Doctor...I think if I'd touched Keith or said a word he wouldn't have been able to pretend nothing had happened. He...reacted so strongly to anything I said or did."

Merisan nodded again. "So, no. You did nothing, said nothing. And then you...died. And the you that returned to the team ..."

"Wasn't attracted," said Shiro. "I remember thinking it was a little odd, but Keith was just one more crazy kid I needed to get out of the warzone and safe back to Earth. And then he left, and I didn't really think about it." He frowned. "That was Haggar, wasn't it. Because it's bad if a spy has feelings for the targets."

"I leave that judgment to you, Mr. Shirogane," said Merisan mildly. "But I will concede it is a logical conclusion to have. So your second self had no attraction at all?"

"Just once," said Shiro thoughtfully. "And there was never time to build on it. When Keith came back from the quantum abyss...that was not a boy that got out of that ship, doctor. It was ...all those little moments, all those flashes of potential, condensed and realized. He didn't look for approval, he wasn't a wounded cub. I spent a few hours wondering how I'd missed seeing just...how capable he was. And then - " he gestured vaguely with the prosthetic hand, indicating _and then Haggar_.

Merisan made a note. "And we've covered that after that, after your two selves had to share a body, that things got inordinately complex. Tell me, did the flashes of attraction stop?"

"No," said Shiro carefully. "But they did get shorter. It was obvious that Keith had feelings for me, and ...honestly, I was and am grateful as hell for that. I wouldn't be here without him. But it got so complex. I couldn't keep my mind sorted out and I _needed_ to. I needed to focus on the war, on keeping Earth safe, on keeping the _universe_ safe. I couldn't dwell on my personal life."

"Until after the war, and by then everyone had their assumptions about where you stood, yes," said Merisan. "Tell me. How is that lately? Do you still feel divided?"

Shiro didn't answer for several minutes. He withdrew, apparently meditating - which Merisan took as a significant improvement over previous sessions where he'd asked that and Shiro had seemed to be having some kind of internal boxing match. "...Yes and no," he said at last. "I'm still aware of the duality. But it doesn't feel as much like ten pounds of mind in a five pound sack."

"Excellent," said Merisan. "It's possible that duality will never fully recede, but we'll take matters as they come. Magic being a new intrusion into the field, after all. What do you feel you would like to do next?"

"Talk to them," said Shiro. "I mean, not in a call, but...meet with them. Talk to them. I have a lot to apologize for. And...I shouldn't have fallen out of touch." He paused. "I really owe Curtis an apology, too. He tried so hard. Even if it's over...I think I owe him more than just silence."

Merisan jotted notes. "We will contact the Paladins, and Curtis, to see when they can come," he said. "Are you placing Keith with the other paladins, in this?"

Shiro shook his head. "I don't think that would be right, no," he said. "He and I...we have a _lot_ more to talk about. You won't let me hurt him, right?"

Merisan blinked. "Are you desiring to do so?"

Shiro shrugged. "I think I've probably hurt him a lot without ever actually getting as far as wanting to or not wanting to, doctor."

Merisan took a deep breath. "Yes. Well. We progress as we are able, Mr. Shirogane. If you wish I will ask Dr. Brice to advise you; she is our point in dealing with Keith's particular uniqueness."

"I'd like that, then," Shiro nodded. "Thanks."


	29. One Step Into The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro's allowed out, and the paladins provide helpful aid. And probably the last time we see Curtis.

The doctors took their seats.

Dr. Pender opened with, "Mr. Shirogane has asked to meet with his associates. Your thoughts?"

Dr. Merisan said, "I believe Mr. Shirogane is ready to be challenged. If we agree on that, I would put forth that it is also time he leave here. These meetings should not be a case of the associates coming to this clinic. Mr. Shirogane should meet with them on their territory, on their schedules."

Dr. Brice, carefully, said, "Leave here on what terms, doctor?"

Merisan replied, "Mr. Shirogane has resided at this clinic for _years_ now. It is a physical embodiment of a comfort zone at this point, which is a testament to our work on his behalf. It is, within these walls, safe to examine any portion of his life and experiences, and this is tremendous progress. But to continue his progress, he must also push forward _out_ of that comfort zone. I would like these meetings to take place outside these walls for that reason. This man was a great leader, a great hero. He should not be encouraged to become an agoraphobe."

Schlessinger noted, "Pretty hard to record meetings out in the world, doctor. Are we willing to rely on secondhand reports?"

Brice pursed her lips. "My concern here is that when he was admitted, he was married and had a home with his spouse. Since then he has been divorced, and while the house likely remains his, it will be a physical reminder that his time here has not been without cost. Keith will very likely offer his own home. That could push certain confrontations to the forefront."

Merisan thought the problem over. "I believe if we stipulate he must return to his own residence and make decisions regarding it _before_ he meets with others, that may be sufficient. I will let him know he can - and should - choose where to reside, but that that choice must be made before moving forward. Thank you; I had forgotten about the house. It may prove a more than sufficient first challenge. As you say, Keith may well offer his own residence and that is in itself a significant challenge. Better that it be dealt with first."

Brice nodded agreement. "All right. I'll accept that. He may want to talk with Curtis as part of it, but that would have to be done at some point in any event. As you say, better to handle it first."

"Of course," Merisan agreed. "I believe the house is held jointly - a discussion is inevitable between the three of them. Mr. Shirogane may be ambitious, and overreach, but I would take that as a positive sign if he does. It is his nature to overreach."

Schlessinger said, "And if he throws your rules out the window the minute he's in the parking lot?"

Merisan shrugged. "Mr. Shirogane's nature is to follow rules, and to use the places not covered by them for his exploits. I have little concern on this front."

"Keith is far more likely to push matters," Brice agreed. "But not here, not on this. Inform him of the restrictions and be clear it is for Mr. Shirogane's health, and he will comply."

"It seems we have a plan," said Dr. Pender. "I will inform Keith, and leave it to Dr. Merisan to inform Mr. Shirogane."

~*~

The thing about being happy on someone else's behalf was that sooner or later it highlighted how happy you _weren't_. And Lance wasn't jealous of Coran. He really wasn't. Coran was, if anything, long overdue an open-armed welcome and time to get to know his family, and they seemed like good people. Of course Coran would disappear for a while to go get to know them.

But it meant Lance was now basically the only human on Trebi, and while Allura loved spectrally walking with him as he pretty much went wherever his feet (or sometimes nose) felt like taking him, he was more than a little aware that having a spectral girlfriend was nowhere near as fun as the full package.

The people of Trebi apparently, as a whole and individually, regarded themselves as Lance's hosts. If he wanted a thing - clothes, or food, or some interesting looking trinket - he had only to express an interest and it was offered to him. Money _did_ exist - he saw the Trebians using it with each other - but was apparently not a rule they were going to apply to him. It felt powerful for about ten minutes before he started being _very_ careful what he looked at. 

The history of Trebi was written in its parks, as far as he could tell. Every park had a path that was paved in a different way from the other paths - red tiles instead of blue, or purple tiles instead of green, that kind of thing - and if you walked that path beginning to end, the statues and mosaics told a story. Allura enjoyed translating for him; the Trebian dialect of Altean was a bit difficult at times. "What I don't get is why you won't come and say hello," Lance said, between statues. "Isn't this exactly what you wanted? Alteans that escaped, that didn't turn bad, that Haggar never got to? It's even run by your family! You're not alone anymore."

_It is exactly what I hoped for, Lance,_ Allura agreed. _It's my gift to my people, and to Coran._

Lance frowned. "You... _made_ this? No way. No way am I believing that. This has been here for ages! I mean look at the statues! You don't get that kind of layered bird crap in a week, you know."

Allura laughed, although a bit self-consciously. _I brought Daibazaal and Altea back. Why_ not _this?_

"Because -" Lance stopped, realizing he knew the answer already. More quietly, he said, "Because if you'd put them on Altea everyone would have known they were new. But put them out here, unexplored area where we're sure to find them, everyone accepts that they were here all along."

_Including them._ Allura-ghost nodded. _I thought Earth could use some neighbors. And Coran needed family to take care of, and to protect._

Lance found himself staring down at an ornamental stream, gripping the polished guardrails maybe a bit too hard. "Allura, I love you, but I can't believe you sometimes. So none of this is real?"

_It's as real as Altea, and Daibazaal,_ said Allura. _It really has been here most of ten thousand years. It just wasn't here before our fight with Honerva._

Lance stared down at the almost-smooth water below. At the markings on his cheeks. "And you needed me to come here because..."

_Because you need to learn_ , said Allura. _And I can't really teach you, and Oriande is gone._

Lance looked up to regard her. She wasn't projecting a princessy gown today. It was that cat suit thing she'd generally worn around the castleship when not in armor. "You ...need me for something?" he guessed.

Allura's spectral form nodded. _I'm getting stronger, as you've noticed. But ...it doesn't seem to be about strength._

"I told you from the beginning I'd do whatever you needed, that I want to help," said Lance. "Just tell me, okay? No mystery. Just tell me."

_That wouldn't really be helpful_ , said Allura guardedly. _Go to bed comfortable tonight. Keep the breakables out of reach. I'll show you then._

She vanished, and Lance sighed. "That was _not_ 'no mystery', Allura."

~*~

Hunk regarded engineering as being a lot like cooking; there was science to it, sure, but also an _art_. A feel for the science of it, of how things fit together and how they _could_ , potentially, fit together. What made this material work better than that one. If you paid attention only to the numbers and not the art, you wound up with ships that leaked fuel while on the ground because you'd taken into account heat expansion at flight speed but not what would happen to the fuel when the material holding it in contracted while at rest.

The Alteans were usually better at the intuitive unreal numbers filed (by Hunk) under 'Magic'. At least, if Allura was anything like a normal Altean. But the colonists had been gradually losing their mystics for thousands of years, as Lotor selected them for his Special Fuel supply. The long term result was that the Alteans didn't have a lot of mystics, but they were shaping up into pretty impressive engineers. Once they'd agreed on mathematical symbols, they'd shaped up into really solid and innovative apprentices. Two or three were good enough already that Hunk was willing to let them spearhead entire projects to see what solutions they worked out. 

The current 'test the journeymen' project was creating versatile, efficient personal spacecraft. The interstellar version of a minivan or SUV, although probably more efficient. The Abyss colonists had spent a very very long time unable to connect with the rest of the universe, and many were eager to make up for lost time. There was a kind of sweeping elegance to their designs that Hunk rather thought would sell well on class-conscious Earth, but when you saw a bunch of them in one place it kind of gave the impression that the planet surface had been turned into a kind of silvery meringue.

Like Pidge, it hadn't taken Hunk long to key a smaller, portable receiver to the secure console that was just meant to tell him when someone had sent a message or wanted to talk. When you routinely built vessels that were on average at _least_ able to squish the average high school campus, standing in one place wasn't really an option. And the construction tended to be noisy, so most of the time he just picked up messages when he was passing that part of the workshop.

Context being something not often included, he was thus quite surprised to get a message that basically read, _Do you have a loaner (small) that Shiro can go visiting with?_

And it wasn't that he didn't have one. The Alteans had built several small ships just to practice building them that would work as loaners. It was that he'd already designed a work of _art_ that wasn't getting so much as a sentence of comment. That hurt. He was really kind of proud of that design. But Shiro ...hadn't really been himself lately, and 'lately' covered a fair chunk of time if his calculations weren't off, and maybe Shiro wasn't ready to be awesome yet. Maybe he just wanted a space station wagon for now. Or a space Volvo. Nice and safe. 

Hunk could do safe. He keyed a message, _Sending you a loaner. Don't break it._ And then turned to face the workshop and bellowed, "HEY REESE! WHERE'S THAT BABY TANK OF YOURS?"

~*~

Keith got a call too, although primarily because he was still Shiro's legal guardian and the therapists were obligated to keep him informed. As he understood it, Shiro wasn't being _released_ , at least not in any kind of permanent sense. Rather, the doctors were letting Shiro out to start dealing with the problems he'd retreated from to deal with the inside of his head, on a one-at-a-time basis. And apparently, this meant that things got dealt with in reverse from the order they'd been caused - so the last problems before he went in, were the first problems to deal with on getting out.

Which meant Curtis. And Jamie. And the house. And Keith was not to come along unless Shiro _asked_ him to, but Shiro would need a way to get around. 

Keith, reading this while watching over Zethrid's medical pod, had to make a conscious decision not to Be Angry. A part of him understood the whys of all this. The doctors were being as careful as they could, letting Shiro stretch without encouraging him to overstep and crash again. He got that. And he was, as the legal guardian, basically the Responsible Adult who had to take care of these details until Shiro could be trusted with them on his own again. He got that, too. But a not-at-all-small part of him really wanted this to be over, wanted Shiro to be okay again, _resented_ all these teeny tiny baby steps. Keith had always been about speed. The snail's pace was brutal to live through.

Ezor, noticing the fuming over her hand of poker, cheerily offered, "I could kill all of them. Five doboshes, tops. I could use the stretch."

"Thanks, but no," said Keith. "It really wouldn't solve anything. I'll...just ask Hunk if he's got something Shiro can use until he decides whether he wants the one Hunk designed for him. Apparently 'would you like a spaceship of your own' is too big a decision or something."

Ezor's skull tentacle curled a bit at the tip. "Who would have thought humans could be so fragile," she said thoughtfully. 

Keith closed his eyes and focused on breathing, which got Kosmo's attention such that suddenly the card game was interrupted by wolf. Kosmo sat down in front of Keith and licked his face until Keith leaned over and gave Kosmo proper scritches and pets until the anger dissipated and he could think clearly again. "Everyone breaks, Ezor. Humans just...sort of save the breaking until they've got time for it. Shiro's got time to handle everything the war did to him. So he is."

"And then he's all better?" asked Ezor. "I think I'd like to see that. That's very...sponge like, you know. Bouncing back after pressure like that. The whole war, huh? He's only been in there a few decaphoebs. Maybe not even that. I didn't really keep track."

Kosmo, dramatic wolf, flopped back against Keith - and given Kosmo's size this was no longer in the least bit ignorable. Keith got knocked onto his back on the floor with Kosmo flumped on top of him, which even considering most of the bulk was fur was not an inconsiderable weight. Ezor started to laugh at the sight of Keith's legs poking out from under the huge wolf sprawling on the floor. It took Keith more than a few minutes to wriggle free. Kosmo then pinned Keith's arms down with his paws and licked Keith's face in a firm, friendly declaration of who was the boss.

Ezor was laughing herself breathless by the time Keith was back on his feet; between the licks and the drool Keith's hair was defying gravity in a very punk fashion. "I think he'd like to go for a walk, boss!"

Keith nodded and, upper hand regained, jumped on Kosmo's back and rarr'd at the wolf in mock-fight play, which started a big, rough game of tag around the cruiser that Ezor joined in on just because it looked fun. The medipod was kept in sight, as a kind of unofficial center point.

~*~

The doctors - except for Merisan - waited outside the door to Shiro's little suite. It would be the first time he'd left those rooms since being admitted, and the doctors weren't above a little ceremony because it did feel like an Occasion. Merisan went inside to be sure Shiro was ready to _do_ this - he was well aware that Shiro would quite probably force himself to if not watched, because a man who had broken records before the age of twenty would find it silly to be apprehensive about leaving a room.

"Are you ready?" asked Merisan calmly.

"Yes, of course," said Shiro, a bit curtly.

Merisan raised an eyebrow. "Been practicing, have you?"

Shiro stared at him. "How -"

Merisan let himself smile a bit. "You have changed a great deal, Mr. Shirogane. The time you have spent here has let you look at yourself in new ways. You have learned to lower your guard. But part of you knows that defense is necessary. Beyond the door is the world, and you know about the world. A part of your mind is remembering, as it were, how to put the armor on."

It was Shiro's turn to smile, a bit wryly. "How to put the armor on. That's a good way to look at it." He took a deep breath. "Right. But I'm still doing this."

"Of course. But if you have gotten your arm stuck in the straps _today_ , the door will still be there tomorrow."

Shiro shook his head. "I know about this kind of fear, doctor. Today it is." He strode forward and opened the door, and then paused at the three doctors waiting there.

"We are your therapists, Mr. Shirogane," said Dr. Pender. "Your transport is on the roof, and coordinates for your first visit. I am Dr. Pender."

"Dr. Schlessinger," nodded that one from his wheelchair. Shiro recognized some of the touches that suggested Hunk had gotten hold of it.

"Dr. Brice," said that one. "In case you have forgotten."

"And this way, Mr. Shirogane, to the elevator," said Merisan, walking at a leisurely pace.

"Um. Nice to...meet everyone. I think," said Shiro awkwardly, and quickly followed after Merisan. "A whole team, really? And I thought Brice was Keith's doctor?"

Merisan stepped into the elevator, waited for Shiro to follow him, hit the button for the roof. This required entering a key because it was usually restricted. "She is. She is also an expert on power dynamics in interpersonal relationships. Everyone has their particular field of experience, Mr. Shirogane. Your case is possibly the most unique in human history. We, and in this I mean the people of this planet, made certain you have had the best of care." The door opened on the roof, showing a ship about the length of the average truck-and-trailer, sleek but clearly armored, in the white and pale blues that Alteans generally favored. Dr. Merisan took out a few cards. "This ship is on loan to you from the Yellow Paladin, who asked that we remind you he offered to build you a ship of your own and would like an answer on that when you're able." Next card. "The ship was brought here by Keith, who will retrieve it after you return it to this roof. He wished you to know that 'the keys are in the ignition and the coordinates are on the dash', and has provided his transponder code if you should need anything else." Next card. "The last message is from Lance, who sends his regrets that he will miss this moment but that you are welcome to stay as long as you wish, and his family are expecting you."

Shiro blinked. The sky looked different, when outdoors. The air was different. He really had been in there a _while_. The world felt so _open_ that it took a few moments to refocus on the ship. It was early spring now, the trees bare but starting to bud, and the wind had a snowy bite to it. They had to be a long way from the Garrison.

Merisan let Shiro absorb the reality of Outdoors for a few moments, and said, "Mr. Shirogane. We do not have a timetable set, at this point. Only a task. Please meet with your ex husband, and settle the arrangements for your house, and then return here. We would like to speak with you at the end of this task to see what is best done next."

Shiro blinked at him. "But there's no timetable for the task itself?"

"No, Mr. Shirogane," said Dr. Merisan. He seemed smaller, outdoors. The scarring from the galra slave whips...didn't belong out here, in the bright sun and the late winter wind. "Take whatever time you need to see things through to your satisfaction. Lance has offered your ex husband and his lover refuge at his farm, and you are also offered refuge there. And of course there is your own house. Return when you have settled this matter and we will meet with you."

"You think I'll collapse again?" asked Shiro, frowning. "It's not that much to do."

Dr. Merisan gave him as serene a look as he could manage. "Mr. Shirogane. We are predicting nothing. We have no idea whether this will be easy for you, or difficult. We would simply like to be kept in the loop so that we find out, and can adjust your course of treatment as needed." He gestured to the ship. "Please continue. Your life has been waiting for you."

~*~

In a sense, they'd done this before.

Lance knew about sleep positioning, at least - soft bed so bones didn't press too hard against skin, don't cross your legs or sleep on your side because it would cut off blood flow, all that sort of thing. He'd had weird dreams for a long time now, off and on, and when Allura pulled him into a dream he tended not to move until morning.

He got the feeling this would be different, somehow. Probably in more ways than just 'less erotica'. So he took care to leave a note by the bedside saying if he didn't wake up to just let him be unless it reached a point where a medical pod started looking like a necessary option. He did his evening skin care regimen more or less out of habit, and settled in to sleep, which included ten to fifteen minutes of staring at the ceiling of his room in the Trebian castleship.

And then he was somewhere else. And in a sense, this was familiar too. At least, it looked a lot like the odd mist that had been around Honerva's mindscape, when they'd done that. Except it was just him, in street clothes, and Allura.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked him. "It changes a lot of things. It...won't be pleasant."

"Allura, I want you to come _back_ ," said Lance. "If you're showing me what it is that's keeping you here then I want to know. Maybe I - maybe _we_ \- can help you."

"You know I'm the only one that can fix this," said Allura. "You don't have the power."

"I've had a long time to think about this, Allura," said Lance firmly. "And the conclusion I've reached is: fuck that. There'll be _something_ we can do. It probably won't be fun, because it's never _fun_ , but there will be _something_. We just have to find it, and that means I start with looking."

"You're very stubborn," said Allura, and her tone suggested she wasn't sure if she found that cute or annoying. "But - all right. Just remember, you asked to see."

And then Allura vanished. And the world around Lance changed. 

It didn't take him long to recognize Daibazaal. He'd visited the place a few times just to see what Allura had done, but this wasn't 'new' Daibazaal. This was very definitely the original version. It had cities in the plural, large and ancient, and a sky full of ...well they had to be galra ships, didn't they, dark reds and faint accents and everything looking like it was ready to leap into a bar fight or a war. There were rings to the cities, clear class divisions dominating everything. Banners of...houses, warlords. Lance wasn't sure. They didn't look friendly, but neither did they have the open menace that the Empire had had. These people were warriors, but there was no real sign of _hate_. They fought for the love of the fight. Lance thought it looked kind of like a planet of football fans in a perpetual Superbowl season, and it was very, _very_ odd to look at.

He wasn't really in control of himself, Lance found. His body moved through the air, through the streets, on its own. Allura giving him a guided tour of ancient history, he figured, because this felt far more immediate, detailed, and real than any dream he'd had and he'd had some pretty realistic ones by now.

Lance knew what was going to happen only a moment before it did - when he realized there was no crater on Daibazaal, and that this was therefore before the inter-reality comet struck. He watched it appear in the sky; a bright mote visible in the daylight, then a streak of light, and then striking destruction. It pulverized an inhabited area, sending galra miles away running for their lives. The military was quick to respond, regiments in a variety of dark muted colors surrounding the crater as closely as they could, keeping people away. Helping those that could be helped get to safety.

He knew the story, more or less, from Coran's telling of it, but it was different to watch it happen. There were things Coran hadn't known. Those were the things Allura wanted Lance to see. So Lance watched from Honerva's lab over the rift, the sending of the call into the quintessence field. And he recognized the dark being that answered it, quickly caught in Honerva's containment field.

He watched as it slowly connected with her mind. She was the first, Lance realized, feeling a little sick. The being hadn't known how to connect at first. Hadn't known how to tempt. It started subtly - hunger, hunger for knowledge that became a need to gather more quintessence. Just little signals sent out into the air around Honerva. The dream had to be skipping time - he could feel the gradual nature of the process, see it on Honerva's face, in her attitude. She shifted from honestly a pretty normal if brilliant Altean to one obsessed with her studies, with the 'potential' of her work.

Lance watched as the rest of the dark being came out of that rift looking for its lost piece. Watched the paladins of old beating it back, putting the seal on the rift. It was particularly strange to see how caring Zarkon was, how worried he was for Honerva. The way he'd been in Honerva's mind and memories. He really had been a great paladin. A great _Black_ paladin, even.

He was just reaching the point where he wondered what had happened when the dream showed him. How the little piece of the dark being started feeding - just tiny portions at a time, but over many many years - on Honerva's life, even as it got better at inserting thoughts into her mind. She withered, becoming unstable. Weak. Lance watched Zarkon get agitated and worried in a way that looked _very uncomfortably_ familiar. Zarkon was losing his mate. That made a lot of things that should have been entirely off the table worthy of consideration. He loved her. He wanted to save her. And he didn't really care if that made the other paladins turn against him, if he could just do this one thing first.

Lance was really wishing this dream had a pause button. He'd seen that slightly-crazy intense dedication before. All of them had, except Shiro. And as much as the similarity to Keith made Lance edgy, he honestly wanted to ask Allura if she thought _he_ was also like that. If she thought humans were like the galra this way. But she wasn't around to ask, and so he wound up wondering if she had a point. Human literature was full of stories just like this, after all.

And then he forgot about it, because the dream shoved him into the quintessence field, and he saw what happened to Zarkon and Honerva. He watched the dark tide sweep over both of them, and the paladins brought back their bodies before destroying Daibazaal to close the rift.

Lance watched Zarkon wake up and _now_ he was the Zarkon Lance remembered. And he watched Honerva wake up, and her process of becoming Haggar. And he'd kind of hoped the dream would stop there, but it didn't. Allura showed him Haggar's changes, and her pregnancy. She showed Lotor's birth, and the doctors fretting because Haggar had still been Honerva when she became pregnant, she'd been carried into the _rift_ pregnant, what did that say about the health of the child?

It just kept getting worse.

Lance watched, honestly twitching for this to be over, no really, could use a break here, as Lotor grew up with really, no _parenting_ at all. He felt ashamed of himself for ever mocking Lotor for having a nanny, a _dayak_. Watched Lotor grow up without any light at all to guide him but the notes of a mother he'd never known and a people that his father had done his best to eliminate. Watched Lotor _try_ to pull a shred of light out of this only to be punished, only to fail over and over. Watched Lotor, in desperation, create the colony...and then in greater desperation use it as a tool to make a weapon that could put an end to the darkness.

Watched the millennia pass without Voltron's return, and light after light slowly snuffed out as the Empire spread, and with it the darkness that came from its ruling family. From Haggar to the Druids to every ship in the Empire, every crew slowly twisting and darkening until the Empire was the embodiment of destructive madness.

It was a definite relief when the visions stopped, and it was just _darkness_. It let Lance try to remember how to breathe.

"That's what I have to fix, Lance," came Allura's voice, and she stepped out of the darkness to join him. "Honerva thought she was...cured, I think, when she broke the trials of Oriande. In truth all that happened was she regained her full memory. She undid the worst of what her actions as Haggar brought about, although...in the most violent way possible because she wasn't cured at all. She killed the warlords that were too far gone to know peace. She let the Druids self destruct fighting the Blades. But she wasn't cured. She wasn't free. So she made the Alteans into new druids, into acolytes."

"And _you_ , Allura," said Lance, his voice a bit rough because part of him really just wanted to throw up. "You've got that _thing_ , too. Please tell me you've let it go?"

"...It doesn't work like that, Lance," said Allura quietly. "Once accepted only _someone else_ can remove it. I could remove the motes from the acolytes, but they couldn't let it go on their own. I removed Honerva's. I can't remove Lotor's - he developed in the womb with his, grew up with it a part of him. And I can't remove my own."

Lance stared. "Is that why you want me to learn from the Trebians? So I could take the...thing out? Would they even know how?"

"They'll at least be able to show you the path," said Allura. "I don't know how much you'll have to figure out on your own. But I still can't come back, Lance. That entity is still here. Waiting between realities for a hole to open up. Voltron and Sincline were just two reality comets. They happen all the time. They're a part of the multiverse. I have to keep Voltron ready, if one comes here and I can't stop it."

"So...you're the guardian goddess of the universe?" asked Lance. "Is that what you're telling me? Can't you just - set up a barrier, or an alarm, to call the Lions back when the comets happen?"

"I don't know, Lance," Allura admitted. "I know what has to be done. I ...sort of work out the how as I go along. You said you wanted to help - this is what I've been dealing with."

Lance took a deep breath. "I'll get everyone on it. I'll kick them if I have to. But ...you have to promise me, Allura. Promise you'll let the dark thing go when we find a way to help get it out of you. And promise you'll come back when we find a way."

Allura smiled, though it was a little sad, and she moved in to kiss Lance gently on the lips. "A lot of ifs, Lance," she warned him. "Let's see what's really possible."

~*~

The ship's controls were similar enough to Earth and Altean designs that Shiro could figure them out pretty readily. As promised, Keith left the vital things on a note on the dash - coordinates for the clinic, for Lance's farm, and for Shiro's own house. And Keith's transponder code was there too, in case something else was needed. He was a little surprised Keith hadn't waited _with_ the ship, but remembered how well their last chat hadn't gone. Keith probably thought the best thing to do was to wait until his presence was requested.

Which...Shiro wasn't sure he agreed with the reasoning, but he could accept the conclusion. It felt _weird_ to be out in the world. To remember seasons as something other than the appearance of the trees around the clinic's parking lot. He hadn't had to so much as wear long sleeves in...probably years, now. But he could fly, oh yes. He'd been flying since the first day he could reach all of the controls. The ship lifted off the roof smoothly, turned in the air, headed south. 

The ship, fairly small as spacecraft went, was still designed to cover interstellar distances. Shiro kept it subsonic for the sake of people below since he was flying over land, though, and the flight took a few hours. That gave him plenty of time to get comfortable flying, and to test the ship's handling. It was a ship Hunk had approved of, so there was quite a lot to it. As he neared the coordinates given for Lance's farm - and he felt more than a little awkward at this point that he'd never visited - he started looking for a good landing site. He chose one near a road that seemed within walking distance of the farm. 

From 'hadn't left his rooms in years' to 'hiking along a dirt road' was a Change. But the air was warm here, spring in full swing this far south. No need for long sleeves here. And the signage was pretty clear - just follow the blue lioness. The hike was tiring, but he felt better the nearer he got to the farm. The air just got _better_. And then he saw the place and was genuinely, deeply impressed. He'd never have pegged Lance as a farmer, or a gardener, but what he'd built was nothing short of amazing. An older woman met Shiro at the gate. "We were told you'd be coming," she said. "Do you want a room to rest in, or do you want to meet people?"

"Honestly...I should probably start with the meeting people," said Shiro. "But something to drink wouldn't hurt. Where do I go for that?"

"We'll take care of it," she said. "Lance really wanted you to feel at home. And we owe you, still, for bringing our boy home alive and in one piece. And our daughter. Your friends are in the clock garden." She pointed. "It's just that way, along the path. There's a sundial in the middle of circular plantings, you can't miss it. We'll bring you food and drink there." She grinned. "Don't worry about getting lost. Anyone you meet can tell you which way to go."

_My friends,_ Shiro thought. _I've never even met whoever he's with now._ But he followed the path, and ...this garden really was incredible. More than just light and color, the air smelled wonderful without being pollen-heavy, and there was this quiet warmth and energy about everything. He felt more alive and _present_ with every step, even with the hike it had taken to come here.

Curtis and his new partner were on a stone bench at the center of a large circular garden divided into floral wedges. Only one was blooming right now and Shiro realized it really was a floral clock; the wedge that was blooming was the same as the shadow on the sundial. The two men were talking, and both had the tan to suggest they'd been here a while. Shiro cleared his throat so they'd know he was there, and Curtis got up at once (prompting a wary look from his partner).

"Shiro!" said Curtis happily, coming close to grab Shiro's hands. "You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you. How are you? This is Jamie, we've been together maybe a year now."

Jamie dutifully gave Shiro a slightly wary 'dealing with the lover's ex' wave and hello, which Shiro returned. To Curtis, he said, "Is it all right if I borrow you a while? We should talk."

"You can talk in front of Jamie, you know," said Curtis, but his partner got up immediately.

"No, I think this is better done privately," Jamie said firmly. "I'll go help at the house with getting a lunch sorted. Meet me there when you're ready."

He strode off quickly, leaving Shiro a bit stunned. Curtis said, "Don't mind him. He's only ever heard stories of the great hero. He's never seen the Great Hero get shreds of carrot stuck in his floating arm while making a salad."

"Should I be bothered you remember that?" asked Shiro. 

Curtis gave him an odd look. "Why would you be?" he asked. "Besides. I'm the one that should be sorry. You needed someone to stand by you, and I couldn't."

"No one should be asked to put up with what you put up with, Curtis," said Shiro quietly. "I came to apologize. For that, and ...everything."

Curtis sighed, and gestured to Shiro to walk with him. "Look...the only thing you should apologize for is not warning me. I didn't even know you were having nightmares until you told me they'd stopped. You wouldn't tell me what was happening with you, Shiro. Not the nightmares, not the flashbacks...I was so scared for you but there wasn't anything I could _do_."

Shiro winced. "I...know. I'm sorry," he said. "I thought I could just walk away. Leave it all behind, start something new. With you. I never meant any of that to land on you. I'd -"

"Never have married me if you knew?" asked Curtis quietly, just a bit exasperated. "You can't stop trying to protect people, can you. I chose, both times. To marry you - and to divorce you. You just went along with it."

Shiro's eyebrows went up. "Funny, I remember being part of at least one of those decisions."

"You really think you're the only one who's spent time lately thinking about what happened?" asked Curtis. "Jamie and I are here because the Garrison wanted to appoint a guardian for you that it could control. We stayed because...it turned out this place was what I needed to get my own life back on track. We were just talking about where to go next, actually. Now that it's pretty clear the clinic's accepted Keith can be your advocate." He waved a hand. "Anyway. I've had a lot of time to think too, Shiro. About what was my fault and what wasn't. And I did choose you even if you were the one that proposed first. I chose without thinking about all the things I didn't know. And ...I didn't deal with those things as well as I should have."

"No one should have to deal with someone who's out of their mind," said Shiro. "I really wasn't...in control."

Curtis slanted an amused look at him. "Yeah, don't talk to me about your control issues, I'm pretty sure Jamie's ears would start burning," he said. "I was jealous of Keith for a while. Because he could find things that helped you and I didn't even know where to look. Then I was just glad there was _someone_ who knew where to look. And ...that was the first step to letting you go, I think. Realizing I could hand it all over to someone who'd do a better job."

Shiro thought about what to say, what not to. Settled on, "I'm sorry...I've never been good about talking about the past. I think I'm getting better at it lately."

"That's probably good," said Curtis. "Whoever you go with next, tell them, okay? At least the important things. You're so good at convincing people you've got everything together and you've seen things most people don't even know exist. They're never going to be able to guess what's going on in your mind."

"So...it really is over, then," said Shiro carefully. 

Curtis took Shiro's human hand in both of his, pausing his walk to face him. "Shiro...it's been over for at least a year. I won't say I don't care about you. But my life's with Jamie now. And you've still got yourself to sort out. I'm glad for you that that's finally working. That you'll really be able to leave it all behind. But you're going to have to find someone else to move forward with. If I learned anything from this it's that I'm not strong enough."

Shiro wanted to reassure - tell Curtis he was selling himself short. But he remembered, too, the events that had led up to him checking into the clinic. How harried and frightened he'd made Curtis without ever meaning to. So he nodded, instead. "I'm...supposed to ask about the house, though. That's probably some paperwork."

"I'd be for selling it and dividing the proceeds," said Curtis. "But we can sort out the details over lunch if you want. Lance's family do some pretty good food."


	30. The Yellow Paladin's Empire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro flies out to Altea to talk with Hunk, and gets the full tour.

Merisan let himself into Shiro's quarters after the unsual knock and pause. He found Shiro restlessly pacing, fidgeting as if he'd really _like_ to have his hands behind his back, but the floating arm didn't provide the muscle stretching he wanted.

Dr. Merisan nodded toward him, staying standing. "Mr. Shirogane. I take it your meeting went well?"

"I think so?" said Shiro, clearly less than certain. "I...thought he'd be angrier. Or upset. I left so much on his shoulders."

Dr. Merisan decided to take his usual seat, and let Shiro decide whether or not to join him. "He has had time to heal, Mr. Shirogane. And it is my understanding that he is not the sort of man to be angry at another's illness. You did not do any of the things you did out of spite or anger at him."

"...He thought _I'd_ be mad at _him_ , doctor," said Shiro, shaking his head. "For divorcing me while I've been ...here."

Merisan blinked. "Are you angry at him?" he asked simply.

"Why would I be?" asked Shiro, baffled. "He had the good sense to get clear of a situation that he couldn't fix, that would only take him down with it. I'm glad he got clear, to be honest. I'd feel a lot worse if he'd tried to stay and it broke him. At least this way we can be friends."

Merisan hid surprise well. A few extra blinks, a pause before jotting a note. "That has not always been your position," he said carefully. 

Shiro stopped his pacing to stare blankly at the doctor. "I don't know what you mean."

"You have shown great distress when Keith was not there, in past cases," said Merisan carefully. "I am curious why this case with your ex husband is different."

"Because -" but Shiro stopped before another word got out. Stopped, and sat down slowly, frowning. "I want to say 'because it was a combat situation'," he said slowly. "And I know that's part of it and that _is_ different. But...you have a point."

Merisan nodded, although he was quietly pleased that Shiro had reached a point where he saw that much for himself, immediately. He was content to wait in silence while Shiro mulled it over.

"Combat situation," Shiro repeated after a while. "I know he had his reasons, and he turned out to be right, but _at the time_ he put the whole team at risk and I was furious at him for that. And...the programming probably made that stick harder than it would have normally. I know when I talked to him later I said the wrong things. I remember his face. But the hurt stayed, and it wasn't just...CO to soldier. It felt like..." he blew out a breath slowly. "This is going to sound pretty awful."

"Take your time," advised Merisan. "Be sure of your words."

Shiro took a deep breath. "You know...when you see a guy beating his girlfriend, or yelling at her, calling her names, and she just..takes it. You want her to get away, go somewhere else, leave him. And then she does, and you're _so glad_ for her. And the guy she's leaving will always have this...angry, shocked sort of indignation, like how dare she." He looked steadily at the floor, his voice getting even more quiet. "I felt like that guy looked. Like...how dare he _not be there_. How dare he not obey orders. How dare he leave."

"That is an interesting comparison, Mr. Shirogane," said Dr. Merisan. "Why do you compare yourself to the abuser in this scenario?"

"...Because I was cruel," said Shiro slowly. "And I can tell myself all the reasons why that was - Haggar's programming, how scared I was that I wasn't going to get everyone home alive, how feeling like I wasn't _me_ somehow made everything harder to deal with and Keith's never been someone anyone could _control_...but I think I knew I was being cruel, even with all that going on. I couldn't even apologize for it right, but...somewhere, I knew. And somehow that just made me more cruel...like it was Keith's fault I felt that way."

"Do you still feel like that?" asked Merisan.

Shiro thought about it. "That he left - that Keith left - yeah. That still kind of hurts. I could've really used him - or it feels like I could have, anyway. When I really think about it, though, I'm glad he wasn't there. That he got out quick, and early, because...I don't think it would have gotten better. I could have broken him. I don't...think I could forgive myself, if I'd done that."

"As you are glad that Curtis left," noted Merisan. "But Keith did not leave forever. Are you hoping perhaps Curtis will return too?"

"No," said Shiro. "I'm _glad_ Keith came back. But I'm more glad he came back stronger and whole, that he found his mother and got himself sorted out first. He - I'd have broken him, if he'd never left. But when he came back, he came back ready. I don't think that Curtis _could_ do that. He's a good man, you know, but...not a lot of depth to him."

Merisan hmmm'd. "And Keith has...depth?"

Shiro almost smiled. "Doctor, if your team hasn't worked out that he's a veritable Mariana Trench, what _have_ you been doing with him?"

"A great deal of guess work, some of it less than effective," said Merisan dryly. "As we did with you, at the beginning. Knowledge is key to understanding, Mr. Shirogane. And while you would be the logical person to approach for understanding his idiosyncracies, we have our priorities sorted. It is our belief that the best course is to heal you, as we believe we _can_ do this, and you will then be able to help Keith should he require it. Before you rush to volunteer, know that we do monitor him, and we feel his support system is sufficient for the time being."

Shiro blinked. "...Keith has a support system?" he asked, the tone suggesting Merisan might as well have said 'Keith has a sparkly tutu and secretly dances ballet on the weekends'.

Dr. Merisan gave Shiro a dry but deeply amused smile. "Indeed, Mr. Shirogane. He has repeatedly claimed you are his teacher in all things. Including, as we understand it, what _not_ to do."

"Ouch," winced Shiro. "...Fair, but _ouch_."

"Indeed," Merisan repeated, still clearly amused. "So. Shall we return to the topic at hand - yourself, and your progress? What was decided?"

"For now I've agreed to buy Curtis out," said Shiro. "He'll choose an assessor, and I'll pay him half of fair market value for the house. He's already got a home waiting with Jamie."

Merisan made a note. "Very good. When your round of meetings is concluded we will determine whether you're ready to live there. I must say, so far the prognosis looks promising. How do _you_ feel? How was it, to be out in the world again?"

"I'm...not sure today counted, to be honest, doctor," Shiro mused. "I was - it was weird, at first. I haven't felt that shaky except in very dangerous situations, but it was completely uneventful. And Lance's gardens are - honestly, doctor, you should see them. Everyone should. They're really a marvel. I've never been anywhere so peaceful."

Merisan consulted his notes. "Well. Your next trip is more of a challenge. The Yellow Paladin would like to speak with you. As Ms. Holt and Lance are unavailable yet, you will be traveling via wormhole to Altea. Your task this time is to adequately answer his concerns about a personal spacecraft; I'm given to understand he gave you a model already and would like an answer. Do you feel up to it?"

Shiro gave this honest consideration. "...I'll go," he decided. "Hunk's right. We do need to talk. And if I've upset him - well, he'd be easier to deal with than any of the others."

"Then I will see to it you have the needed materials," said Dr. Merisan, getting up. "Good afternoon, Mr. Shirogane."

~*~

It was particularly weird to walk around Trebi, knowing that the whole planet and everyone on it were Allura's work.

He'd been to Daibazaal once. And Altea quite a lot. But those were different. It was just ...a place. Trebi had _people_ and _history_. And it just didn't mesh, in Lance's mind, with his concept of Allura. This was - this was way _too much_ power. 

_You think so?_ interjected Allura, curious and a bit hurt. _You can accept that Honerva - and now I - have the power to destroy Oriande, destroy all of existence...but to create one planet of life is too much power? It's not like they_ know _, Lance. I'm not asking to be worshipped, the way Lotor and Honerva did. I just wanted them to be, and be happy._

Okay, that was a point. It wasn't _the_ point, but it was a point. "Did you create anything else?" Lance asked.

_It doesn't matter,_ said Allura sadly. _If you have a problem with this, you'd only have more problems if I shared all my work._

"Now that's not fair," said Lance quickly. "It's not like I have any experience dating ethereal space goddesses. Give a guy time to adjust, here."

_It's a bit tricky to do that when I can hear you cringing with every step._

"I don't have a lot of experience pretending you can't read my mind, either," said Lance pointedly. "A _little_ privacy might be helpful here. This - I mean, I knew you got more powerful, after...staying behind. But this is serious orders of magnitude, Allura. Just give me time. And maybe while you're at it point me in the direction of a teacher. I want to help you. Less wandering and more practicing might be the way to go."

_I don't know, Lance,_ mused Allura. _I think the right answer to this is 'if the goddess wants you to go somewhere, well that's why there are road signs'._ And she vanished.

"Okay that _really_ wasn't fair," said Lance. But Allura didn't reappear, or answer, so he tried paying attention to the road signs, deciphering and translating as he walked. It quickly transpired that what he'd passed several times, thinking it was a dojo for some kind of Altean karate, was in fact more of a meditational school for budding mystics. Because of course it was. He poked his head in the door and was presented with a room full of white haired Trebians.

"Are you sure you're in the right place?" said the teacher, looking at Lance's clearly brunette mop of hair. 

He pulled said hair back from his ears, showing their roundness and not the least bit surprised at a room full of 'eww!' faces. He remembered Allura's reaction at first sight pretty well. 

The teacher blinked. "You're ...human? Half Altean?"

"Let's just go for 'special case'," opted Lance. "It'd be a real pain to explain it all. But I need to learn and this seems to be the place for that? So, uh. Mind if I join you all?"

The teacher gestured to an unoccupied floor mat. "Do cover your ears, please," she said. "I am Fion. We'll return to our lesson and you can see if you can keep up."

Lance bit back the temptation to snark and sat down. He was well aware that there was a time when being surrounded by pretty altean girls would have been a dream come true; that this one came courtesy of Allura managed to twist the whole idea several steps sideways to the point where he really just wanted to focus on learning what he could so he could go have the awkward twitches about it somewhere else later on. There was sharing your kinks with your lover, and then there was...whatever this was, but it wasn't kinky. Like, at all.

Fion went to a tray of seedlings and started passing them out to the class. "Today, we're going to shape a flower. The first step is to sense the flower's quintessence..."

~*~

The flight was both deeply anxious and entirely uneventful.

Shiro expected the nervousness on leaving his rooms, now. He knew about fear, and that it didn't go away just because you Rationally Knew there was nothing to be afraid of. He hadn't really expected it to get worse as he took his loaner spaceship up into orbit, out to the relay point that Earth used for wormhole traffic. Once up in the black, away from Earth's blue sky, Shiro found himself shaking and short of breath. And it was a perfectly uneventful trip, not even a stray asteroid ding on the hull. Out to the relay site, through the wormhole, and down to Altea. He'd made the trip several times before he'd had to check into the clinic. There was no _reason_ to be this much of a wreck. But when he landed the ship in the lot outside Hunk's workshop, he had to get out and look up at Altea's sky (a bit greener than Earth's, but not by much) and focus on the air, the scent of flowers, the _lack_ of engine hum, the small sounds of life all around.

Hunk found him like that a few minutes later, standing just outside his ship. "Hey, Shiro!" he greeted happily. "The scanners said you were inbound but -" and then Hunk's mouth caught up with his brain. "Oh. You are _not_ okay. Uh." The desire to be Helpful was running hard into the fact that Shiro never asked for or seemed to want help. "Is there ...something I can do?" he finished awkwardly.

He wasn't the only one flailing. Shiro was reaching desperately for the mask he'd always worn, that things were Okay, and found it was simply not there. He couldn't pretend. And that was making him feel uncomfortably vulnerable and even naked, and that was leading to very unambiguous discomfort. Thinking very quickly he grabbed at an old, old memory. "Just...I think I know how you felt that first trip in the blue lion," he said.

Hunk blinked. "...You barfed in the ship?" he asked, as if the mere idea made lottery winners look everyday and commonplace. "I mean, no big if you did, I am an _old_ hand at cleaning up-"

"No, Hunk," said Shiro, unable to stop a chuckle - and found that the laughter, however weak, helped a lot. "No, just...some kind of attack. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Att-" but again Hunk stopped himself, visually scanning the ship's hull. "You don't mean another ship, do you. You mean like, from inside."

To Shiro's complete and utter shock, Hunk enveloped him in a bearhug that only his floating arm escaped. Even more shocking, the warmth and sheer rock-steadiness that Hunk embodied made the anxious butterflies retreat. Hunk didn't just love safety, he embodied it and created it around him. "It's okay man," he rumbled at Shiro. "You don't have to do anything. I gotcha. You just breathe."

And part of Shiro was absolutely mortified, it really was. It shouted that this wasn't right, that it wasn't _Hunk's_ job to make _him_ feel safe. If anything it was the other way around. But the rest...well. The rest was relaxing in that hug like a cat before a warm fire, and the months at the clinic had a sort of little Merisan telling him that he wasn't Hunk's commanding officer anymore, and Hunk wasn't a scared teenager who needed protecting either. So he did as Hunk suggested and ...it worked. The hug and the warmth ...worked. When he felt like himself - albeit a fairly embarrassed version of himself - he said, "It's okay now. You can let go."

Hunk did so, eyeing Shiro measuringly. "I...was gonna be mad at you," he admitted calmly. "You faked being okay when I visited. The doctors showed me. And I told 'em then, you didn't have to do that. Except just now I realized...maybe you thought you did. Because for a dobosh there you were freaking _me_ out, just because you're... _never_ like this. So. Lemme get this out of the way first. You _never_ have to fake being okay, got it? Even if it freaks me out. I'll cope. I always do. I'd rather you be honest with me. You good?"

"Better," Shiro nodded. "I - the doctors warned me that I might be too used to the clinic. I think I just realized what they meant. But I think I'm okay for now."

Hunk gave him another one of those measuring stares, and nodded. "Okay. Well. Now you're here...you've never seen the workshop, have you? Just Allura's hill."

Shiro nodded again. "I don't think you'd finished building it, the last time I was on Altea."

Hunk took his human and thus tuggable hand. "Okay well. Time to give you the tour then. And if you want a break or a drink or whatever, you just say. Cos there's a lot to see."

~*~

When Zethrid stumbled out of her medical pod, a feast awaited.

Knowing that extended stays in a medipod made you hungry, Keith, Ezor, and Acxa had taken some of the spoils of Zethrid's trip and turned them into a 'welcome back to the living' meal. This had required visiting a few of the more esoteric Australian dive bars to learn how you cooked it, but steaks and burgers made from crocodile and kangaroo meat now awaited the recovered galra. Ezor looked particularly smug as Zethrid got as far as '....I'm _starved_ ' before diving in.

Acxa watched with interest. "Definitely a better response than food goo. If she can keep it down."

"While I wouldn't put it past the locals to try and poison us," said Keith, "I'm _pretty_ sure it'll be okay. The meat itself's pretty healthy as far as that goes."

"Think we got her enough beer?" asked Ezor, watching the supply dwindle.

"....I'm glad to have her back but there's a really hard limit on how drunk I'm cool with her being on the ship," said Keith. "It'd take at least two of us to pin her down and she only just got _out_ of the medipod."

"You're no fun," said Ezor, amused. "She's gonna want a rematch, you know."

"We are not doing favors for the Australian government just so Zethrid can try fightng a bunch of kangaroos," said Keith. "Don't even go there. We'll sort something out _later_."

"Your mate's out of containment too," said Ezor, grinning now. "We could make a group thing out of it. Does Shiro like adventure?"

Keith paused. While the short answer to that was _yes_ , he didn't remember Shiro ever advocating hunting as an option. Of course, they'd been in the desert, and there wasn't a whole lot of hunting to be done in the desert. Still, it didn't _sound_ like Shiro's sort of thing. He hadn't generally been in favor of games that involved acting against living beings as such. "Not that kind, I think," he said slowly. "I'll ask him, I guess, when he gets around to wanting to talk to me. The messages said he's on Altea at the moment."

"So what's our next move?" asked Axca.

Keith shrugged. "The doctors said they want Shiro to meet everyone on their own turf. So eventually, that means he's coming on board. We can take a contract in the meantime. That's only a month or two. He's still got Lance and Pidge to talk to, and from what they've said they both have a lot to say to him. Still want to do near-star cataloging?"

"Actually, Kolivan said he has a job for us once we're free to leave Earth for a while," said Acxa, and handed Keith a tablet.

He read it, blowing out a breath. "...Yeah. We should do that. Okay." He looked over at Zethrid, on her third kangaroo steak, and Ezor cheerily monitoring. Those two would be busy a while. He turned for the bridge, Acxa walking alongside. "Better give me the whole message."

~*~

The 'tour' took several days, but Hunk was nothing if not the quintessential host.

First was getting Shiro settled, which was where Shiro learned to just shut up and go with it, and be stunned that really Hunk knew him a lot better than he knew Hunk. The guest quarters were spartan but in a sort of feng shui way rather than a military way, and entirely comfortable, even if Shiro wasn't all that keen on seeing an alien sky just now. Food was Hunk's cooking, and Shiro would have to have been a _lot_ more unstable to turn _that_ down.

The second day was the cooking school, and the campus was incredibly diverse; the majors were in planetary cuisines but you couldn't graduate without being able to competently meld at least four. Taste testing was encouraged. To Shiro's surprise a great many students were galra; they didn't have a cuisine of their own and many seemed interested in pioneering one. Hunk kept a discreet but (as Shiro learned) constant eye on his guest, and whenever Shiro looked the least bit overwhelmed or tired, Hunk would propose taking a break in a quiet corner with some pleasant drink. If nothing else the day highlighted how much strength Shiro had lost spending a few years in the clinic; at the end of the day he was genuinely exhausted, and slept in a blackout.

The third day was the engineering school, which was separate from the workshop; having spent a lot of time among the Alteans Hunk was well aware of how much of their own science they'd lost. The engineering school was geared toward getting all of it back, with the genuinely interested and gifted students moving on to the workshop to innovate new methods and designs. Some of the graduates were being chosen to work the new castleship, since it doubled as Altea's new media and transportation hub. There were a few interstellar students here, but mostly they were humans who'd come to study Altean engineering since that had been the basis for construction of the Atlas and the MFE planes. They were used to Hunk's occasional visits, but their open awe of Shiro meant that more than once Hunk had to run interference, as Shiro wasn't yet up to putting on the charming facade he'd always used for dealing with the public.

The fourth was much easier; just the workshop. _These_ Alteans were enthusiastic scientists, and the humans here were engineers on Hunk's level. Everyone here was about pushing the envelope and building something new. Here were the ships that Hunk had designed for himself and the paladins, though Shiro didn't see one for Keith, and he knew Hunk hadn't yet started one for him. He knew because Hunk asked about it - what kind of things Shiro would want in a ship just for himself, one that wasn't a loaner. Big or little, sleek or sturdy, indestructible or indefatigable. But Shiro had to admit he genuinely didn't _know_ yet. He didn't know if he'd ever want to explore space again.

"Well...do you like Altea?" asked Hunk. "I've been asking my family back home if they'd want to come out here. So far they're not ready to try wormholes, though."

"It's not really a case of liking or disliking the planet," said Shiro slowly. "It's the space between. _Space_ is just...too much, right now."

Hunk blinked. "So...this is like...testing the water, huh?" he asked. "Seeing what still works?"

"I guess you could say that," sighed Shiro. "Turns out the answer is: not much."

"Oh, I dunno," said Hunk. "People are a lot more resilient than machines. Think about where you were last year, or the year before."

"Or two days ago," said Shiro dryly. "Seven minute mile to 'two floors is a lot of ground to cover'."

Hunk shrugged. "You want to hold yourself to old standards, nobody's able to stop you," he said. "But - I mean, just speaking for me - it's more useful to know where you're at now, than where you used to be at. Change is a constant; the pace of change isn't."

"I never really...gave too much thought to how much work it had to be for you to keep up with everyone," said Shiro. "How did you manage?"

The question got him a bit of side-eye. "Sometimes by panicking. Sometimes by making you guys go at _my_ pace. Sometimes by leaving you in the dust. I mean I'm no slouch in the weightlifting department, but my contribution to the team's always been up here," and he tapped his forehead, "rather than out here," and he tapped his bicep. "Same goes for you. We definitely suffered, every time you weren't there."

Shiro blinked. "I thought Keith shaped up into a pretty good leader."

"Well, if by 'good leader' you mean not leading us into death traps, mostly yeah," said Hunk blandly. "But that's not what I meant." He pursed his lips. "Okay. You remember when you and Allura went onto that cruiser that one time to get information, and Allura got captured?"

Shiro nodded slowly. "Not my best day, that."

"You remember Keith's take on 'thinking like a paladin' was to leave Allura behind?" asked Hunk pointedly. "He's gotten better at avoiding having to make the choice, Shiro, but if he has to make the choice, that's still the choice he makes. _You_ don't. _That's_ what we lost."

Shiro frowned. "...We almost lost our shot at Zarkon because we went back for her, though. Because we went after her, Thace's cover inside central command was blown because he lowered the barriers to let us get out again."

" _But we didn't_ ," said Hunk. "We lost Thace, yeah. But we didn't lose Allura. And we didn't lose our shot at Zarkon. If that had been Keith's call we _definitely_ would have lost Allura and without her, we'd _also_ have lost our shot at Zarkon since we needed her to work that giant teludav."

"So...you blame Keith for Allura's death," said Shiro.

Saying it plainly made Hunk think about it. "...I guess I do," he admitted quietly. "I mean, I know he never argued with her. Like, ever. But it was his job to, wasn't it?"

"It was my job, too," said Shiro, just as quietly. "If it's on Keith, Hunk, then it's on me too."

Hunk's lips pressed together. "...You had a lot on your plate," he said at last. "I mean...all the stuff you've been fielding the past couple years. And the Atlas and its crew too."

Shiro looked up at the interior roof of the workshop; it was retractable, but currently closed. "...Maybe it's on all of us, then," he said. "We were supposed to be a team and we let her field a lot of the problems alone, near the end there."

Hunk nodded. "Yeah. That feels...right. Yeah." He didn't sound happy about it. "I knew Keith wouldn't argue with her and I still didn't stand up like I should have. I was too scared of what Honerva was doing to stand with Lance. Relieved someone else would take the risk."

He sounded about as ashamed as Shiro felt. All the self-examination he'd spent so much time on, and he hadn't even gotten around to who had paid the price for biting off more than he could chew. He didn't want to blame Keith - not after all the time he'd spent questioning his motives for doing so - but _talk_ with him about it, yes. Hunk _was_ right that Shiro had never seen Keith argue with Allura, and that this was one case where he really should have. But Shiro knew _he_ should have argued with her, too, and knowing all the reasons why he hadn't didn't make that a better call.

"I guess it's just as well the lions have gone," said Hunk. "We were cracking up even before Allura died. We're paladins, but we haven't been a team in ages."

No. No, that was definitely wrong. Or - maybe right, but not inevitable and not a default state. "We were shoved together, at first," said Shiro. "We didn't have a choice and some of us didn't want to be there, but there was no other way to eventually get back home. And then we got back to Earth, but we couldn't split up because Earth was still in danger. It's not wrong to want time for ourselves, Hunk. And we're still paladins. We just...we've waited until we're needed. Like the original paladins, we've gone back to our kingdoms."

" _We_ did, maybe," said Hunk. "You didn't."

"Sometimes you've got to rebuild from the ground up," said Shiro. "And...being a paladin is all I ever really wanted, even if I didn't know I wanted it until it landed in my lap."

"I told Keith, and I'll tell you too," said Hunk kindly. "I know I look busy. I have a lot to do. But if you ever need anything - anything at all, a ship or a comm console or _anything_ \- you call me. I'll get it done."

Shiro smiled. "Thanks," he said. "I promise I'll think about a ship. For now, though, the loaner is more than enough. I've still got a lot to deal with."

"I bet," said Hunk. "I mean, I still have nightmares. Then I go out and help people on a desert world have enough water, or a volcanic world to have a stable place to build on, or one of my street fairs shows some kids what's waiting past food goo..." he shrugged. "It helps."

Shiro's smile turned wry. "Sometimes, I really envy you."

~*~

Pidge was more than happy to come home. The Olkari were spectacular hosts, and you could fall down rabbit holes for weeks just bouncing ideas around, but sooner or later you wanted to slow down enough to finish something. And she had many projects waiting for her at the Garrison.

But first was checking in at home, and the projects of the family.

"I think we've really managed to come up with something special," said Matt, opening the case. "This one's laser precise, Shiro's exact measurements."

It _was_ a work of art. It made Shiro's current arm look clumsy, an idea only half-formed. They'd kept the Altean joints and color scheme, so there was still white enamel. But the joints here had fine mesh between them, giving the appearance of a gauntlet rather than a prosthetic and incidentally making sure things held wouldn't get stuck in said joints. There was a fine rubber like coating over the palm that let it have warmth and give when held and gave the hand traction when holding on to objects. The whole hand, wrist, and arm were matched to Shiro's measurements, and it attached via flexible clasps to the field generator currently implanted in his shoulder. It could therefore be easily swapped out for the independent, larger version if Shiro happened to need it. It had a built in computer with a holographic one-hand keyboard, several lockpicking programs in the fingers along with a microlaser for emergencies, and a built in com system that linked to the crystal relays.

Pidge lifted the arm out of its case, approving its weight and flex, and nodded. "You're right, this is pretty special. The Olkari _can_ , they _think_ , get him to grow a new arm. Like, just a regular flesh and blood arm. But it'd require several days in a prepared and coded medical pod, and a lot of physical therapy afterward."

Matt hmm'd, as Pidge carefully put the new arm in the case. "So you figure he'll want to stay with prosthetics?"

Pidge could only shrug. "I have no idea, Matt. Really. He never really _talked_ about the galra arm. And the only thing I'm clear on with his current one is he'd rather have it than have no arm at all. He doesn't really go out of his way to say what he thinks about things."

Matt smiled a bit. "Well. We're probably in luck there. Apparently, Shiro's doctors are sending him on tour. He's supposed to meet with everyone, one at a time, on their turf. So we can ask him when he comes by to visit."

Pidge blinked. "Does that mean Mom's making lasagna?" she asked, getting right to the most important aspect of the matter.

"So glad we're on the same page," laughed Matt. "It's been ages and I need backup to convince her."

~*~

The doctors let Shiro slip back into his rooms without having to pass any barriers of interrogation; he'd been gone several days and even a perfectly healthy person would need a day or two to adjust to being back in familiar surroundings. And he did look tired, although not as stressed as the doctors might have feared. After two nights and a full day between, Dr. Merisan knocked politely at the door, and waited this time for Shiro to grant permission to enter.

Taking his customary seat, the doctor opened with, "So. You have returned to outer space, Mr. Shirogane. How was it?"

"The _space_ part was the worst part about it," said Shiro. "I wouldn't have thought it would ...do that to me."

"Do what, exactly, Mr. Shirogane?" asked Merisan.

"I felt...cold. Naked. In _danger_ ," said Shiro, frowning as he thought about it. "I never used to think of space that way. Even when I almost died out in the black."

The doctor studied his notes. "...I think you should bear in mind, Mr. Shirogane, that even when you were most alone in deep space, you had a mission. Something to push you past any misgivings or creeping terrors. But you had no mission this time - at least, nothing of any urgency. Nothing you could use to force your mind away from less...shall we say _useful_ feelings. So. Tell me about this fear. We have the time now, Mr. Shirogane, to face it."

Shiro shook his head. "Less useful sounds about right, doctor. I was afraid of the cold, of dying alone. Just drifting forever. It was just a short hop, doctor. A quick wormhole trip. There wasn't any reason to fear any of that. But I was shaking so hard I had to hold on to the hull and breathe a while after I landed. I guess I was lucky that it was Hunk I was visiting. He's probably the most understanding when it comes to being afraid."

Merisan blinked. "You think your other friends would not be understanding?"

Shiro almost answered immediately, but stopped himself. Exhaling almost irritatedly he admitted, "No, I guess I don't. I wouldn't have done that - gone out there - if I'd realized how unready I was. I never intended to let my guard down that far. But...it turned out for the best, I think. I think...the meeting went better because of it."

Merisan made a little, 'do go on' gesture, taking notes.

Shiro sighed. "You let him see, when he visited here, that I wasn't...really ready to talk to anyone. Why did you do that?"

Merisan blinked. "I would think you know that, Mr. Shirogane. Your companions had come to think of you as indestructible. You were, at that point, using your pride as a crutch - not at all healthy. Letting your friend realize that you are _not_ in fact the god Atlas reborn let him understand your situation more accurately, and be a better friend to you. It is understandable that you had lost touch, given your time here and your quite genuine need to focus on yourself. However, we felt it better for you overall that you still have friends when leaving. You are starting enough of your life over as it is."

Shiro gave Merisan a dour look. "That was particularly meddlesome of you."

"If you were capable of making wise decisions to govern your own life, Mr. Shirogane," said Merisan serenely, "you would not have spent the past few years in this suite. Your guardian was made aware of the choice and approved it on your behalf as a necessary step."

Shiro looked for all the world like a very large four year old being told it was nap time. Merisan, to his credit, didn't crack even the ghost of a smile. He simply said, "You noted, just now, that abandoning that crutch assisted your meeting with the Yellow Paladin. Accept, for the moment, as a theory, that our professional judgment is not entirely in error. Your pride will heal, of that I am certain."

Shiro blew out a breath. "Fine, but...I'm not going to be much use to anyone if I can't leave this planet."

Merisan jotted a note on his pad. "Again we return to this idea of 'use'," he mused. "Must life have use to have meaning?"

"I don't know about in general," said Shiro, "but up to now _mine_ did."

Merisan hmm'd. "And how many times must you save this planet, all humanity, several dozen alien species, and the multiversal nexus before you have proven yourself 'useful', do you think?"

Shiro scowled. "So I should just sit on my butt and skate into old age, is that it?"

The doctor, unruffled, asked, "Is there perhaps a middle ground?"

Shiro got up, pacing. "Do you know what Hunk's been up to?" he asked. "While I've been 'working on myself'? Cooking school, engineering school, a starship R&D academy that puts half the Garrison to shame, any number of beneficial community projects around at least a dozen galaxies -"

Merisan made a little 'ah' face, realizing where all this agitation about 'usefulness' was coming from, and amended his notes while Shiro continued. When the silence returned for a few seconds, he said, "Are you perhaps unaware that we have spoken with the Yellow Paladin?" he asked. "He has been of great help here, as well, although his gift of a chef is one we are still adapting to. You feel you are not useful, not needed? Mr. Shirogane, do you not understand that your friend has made it abundantly clear he ranks all of these many achievements _below_ being your friend?"

Shiro stopped, and sat down, and looked almost ready to cry. "Do you _honestly_ think it helps to know that? No one's worth all that."

"He has been quite clear on this point, Mr. Shirogane," said Merisan mildly. "He does these things, all of them, in the way that he does because, in his words, he will always be the Paladin _you_ taught him to be."

"He was a good engineer before I ever met him," said Shiro quietly. "He's always been a better engineer than I could be."

"But had he not met you," said Dr. Merisan, "it is quite likely he would have stayed here, on Earth. And the many worlds out there would have no help now. I understand his entire family remains here, and that he cares a great deal for them. _You_ made him into a man history will remember with praise."

"So I should take credit for his work?" said Shiro sourly.

"Perhaps consider viewing his work as his thanks to you," said Merisan. "As he does. You are not an engineer, but _because of you_ , many people that have needed an engineer's help have gotten it."

"I still don't know what I should do with my life," sighed Shiro. "The Lions are gone. The war's over. I can't be the Garrison's recruitment tool anymore, not after...everything. And going into the black puts me on the edge of a breakdown."

Dr. Merisan exhaled slowly. "Perhaps, Mr. Shirogane, you should consider that we are not done here yet. That this is not you being 'well'. If we were talking about, say, a virus or similar affliction, you would be considered a convalescent. Not _well_ , but past the worst of it. I am sure you are aware that many people with a lack of proper self control give themselves a relapse at this stage by thinking they are 'better' and attempting to return to full duty, when in fact they _should_ be very careful, and not push the recovering body too far."

Shiro gave Merisan a very, very sour, _I see what you're doing there_ look. "Your hints are less than subtle."

Merisan got up, bowing with a slight smile. "When one is presented with a stubborn nail, Mr. Shirogane, the proper tool can only be a hammer. Take time to rest. Think about your meeting. I believe you will be seeing the Green Paladin next, and if her presence in person is indicated by her presence on screens, I am quite certain she will be exhausting. Prepare accordingly."


	31. The House of Holt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance takes up studies, and Shiro visits the House of Holt.

The doctors took their seats, looking over their notes.

Pender opened with, "Dr. Schlessinger. You spoke with the Yellow Paladin about the visit. Anything to share?"

Dr. Schelssinger rumbled for a bit, sounds that weren't coughing or clearing his throat but just a sort of general 'yes yes, I'm thinking about it'. "The Yellow Paladin commends this group for Mr. Shirogane seeming much better, although he found Mr. Shirogane's general lack of stamina disquieting and suggested we provide better exercise facilities, which he is willing to cover the cost of if required."

Dr. Pender blinked. "That's it?"

"Bluntly, yes," said Schlessinger shortly. "My assessment is that he is well aware of Mr. Shirogane's changes, and is trusting us to see this process through, and to contact him if he is required."

"The paladins, with Green being the exception, do appear to be inherently trusting," noted Brice. 

"You think Keith trusts us?" asked Merisan, surprised.

"Oh, not as individuals, no," said Brice. "We are human, we have authority over his mate, and we are therapists, which on a personal level would mean Keith does not trust _any_ of us. But that we are helping Mr. Shirogane? Yes, Keith trusts that we know what we are doing on that front, and that we have Mr. Shirogane's best interests at heart. I'm aware that the statements appear antithetical. Take it as read that _as long as_ Mr. Shirogane continues to improve, we have nothing to fear from Keith."

"...Not the least bit reassuring," mused Merisan. "As this is quite possibly the most dangerous point in his therapy. Mr. Shirogane is close enough to healthy that he can, as it were, see it on the horizon. He is not the most patient of men, and the urge to run for that goal, heedless of the obstacles that remain, has already presented itself."

"And we can't just lock him in his suite," said Pender. "The entire goal is to get him able to go back out into the world again."

"Precisely," said Merisan. "His meeting with the Yellow Paladin made him restless. And, I think, also concerned. He _is_ rather better now than he was when he arrived, and that means among other things he is seeing problems that he missed before due to the stresses he was suffering from. His meeting seems to have highlighted a few of them for him. He will want to, as it were, dive in."

Brice mmm'd. "The paladins do regard him as their leader, still," she said. "Not as 'captain of Atlas' but as the one, true Black Paladin. And it would seem they've missed him."

"Yes," said Merisan. "That is also my concern. They are used to him being indestructible. Or at least presenting as such. He is anything but, and certainly not yet in a state where I would trust him to save a planet if I had any choice about it. Dr. Schlessinger, will you advise the Green Paladin accordingly?"

"Actually, if I may interject," said Pender, "I've spoken to Green. And while she does want to have a visit of a few days, it would seem that in her case the whole of her family would like to spend time with Mr. Shirogane. A family affair, a family dinner. She was very firm about this."

Brice blinked. "...Does Mr. Shirogane have _any_ experience at family dinners?"

"Wouldn't help," said Schlessinger firmly. "The Holt family are about as standard issue as sparkly fishnet tights. He'll have to take them on their own merits." When the other doctors stared at him in surprise, he added grumpily, "Contrary to what you may think I do not spend _all_ my time waiting for the rest of you to bring me reports. Mr. Shirogane's therapy has been of great interest to the paladins. Keith gave consent for paladins to receive updates if they asked for them." The old fellow raised his eyes ceilingward. "Codependent lot, honestly."

Dr. Pender sighed. "Well. If they are aware then hopefully they will not undo the work so far."

Dr. Merisan nodded. "This is, despite appearances, a delicate stage. If he pushes too hard he will break, and it could be months before he is able to try this again. I have attempted to impress upon him the importance of listening to the symptoms, that if he feels overwhelmed it is proper and necessary to retreat."

Schlessinger's lips pursed. "Mmm. Valid," he rumbled. "The Holts don't know what brakes are, never mind how to apply them. But I think I can pave the way. Is he ready to make the trip?"

Merisan said, "Another day or two at most. He appreciates the safety of the suite, but is restless enough that he won't stay long."

Schlessinger nodded. "I believe I can give him a safety net, then."

~*~

It wasn't _alchemy_. It was _magic_. Lance was learning _magic_.

The world changed so much once he accepted that that's really what it was. Alteans thought there was science and alchemy. But that wasn't really the case. There was science and there was _magic_ , and alchemy was what you got when you combined the two. The Lions were alchemy. Sincline was alchemy.

What Lance was learning was _magic_.

The days blurred. Lance had never really been much of a student, but that was because the courses had involved memorization, pen, and paper. Calculators and formulae. _This_ was a whole different candle factory. He'd worked out a few things on his own - the sense of quintessence, strong and weak fields, how to infuse emotion to create barriers and wards.

Kid's stuff, as it turned out. No wonder Allura had learned the Lions so quickly.

Sense quintessence? Sure, start there. But quintessence was life. You could learn to sense health or illness like seeing leaves on a plant wither or grow. You could encourage that growth in any direction you chose - make someone bigger, stronger, braver. You could turn a seedling into a thick hedge or heal a housefire victim's burns. 

Allura had had to go to Oriande because the mystics of Altea were gone. He remembered she'd protested many times that she'd 'had no training'. Using Oriande for this, as it turned out, was like skipping grade school and high school and starting your education at the college level. She'd been strong, and talented, and this was _magic_ which didn't have to follow the usual progression, but Lance quickly realized she'd been right to think training on Trebi would give Lance a lot.

He could protect his family with this. He could do a lot more than that, too, once he decided exactly _what_. Because this _was_ magic. You couldn't half-ass magic. This wasn't boredly making a baking soda volcano that would work whether you cared about it or not. Magic, the manipulation of quintessence, depended on your _own_ quintessence. How much you cared. How much you needed the thing to happen. A lot of the classes were about reaching into your heart and _finding_ that caring. It made the strongest mystics deeply empathetic.

It took a few weeks of tapping into that caring before the nightmares started - before Lance's subconscious tapped him on the shoulder and pointed out the flipside.

_Caring_ about an outcome didn't necessarily mean in a _positive_ way. Hatred was caring. Rage was caring. The need to control was still _need_. Altean magic used that need and didn't require it to be kind.

Everything Haggar had done, before Oriande gave it a massive power boost...all of it was Altean magic at the core. Altean magic devoted wholly to anger, rage, and hunger, sure, and no wonder it had taken Allura a direct confrontation to see the similarity. But everything Lance was learning tied just as much to Haggar's tortures as it did to Allura's acts of creation.

As far as 'reasons to have nightmares' went, Lance quickly concluded only Shiro probably had better ones. Allura had handed Lance _power_. A skeleton key to the whole universe. He wasn't sure he was ready for that. He wasn't sure anyone _could_ be.

But he kept at the lessons anyway. 

Because he knew what he wanted. And he knew how much he wanted it.

He wanted Allura to come _home_.

~*~

The trip from the clinic to the House of Holt was much easier on Shiro, though it was about as long. This was because he took a skimmer, thoughtfully provided by Krolia, rather than a ship.

He'd forgotten about skimmers, and how much fun they were. The trip was roughly six hours, and they were a _really fun_ six hours. The skimmer wasn't his own - it looked like Keith's, actually, although clearly cleaned up and even upgraded in places. It handled beautifully, and Shiro skimmed along open lands (and through a few ranches, and over a few farms) and the only real issue was feeling a little unbalanced because his prosthetic arm didn't connect to the rest of him. On the grand scale of things it was a minor issue; several hours under an open sky with the wind on his face did wonders.

He did, for a while, wonder why he hadn't done this when he'd first gotten home - but there had still been so much to do, at that point. Even on retiring from the Atlas, there had been moving in with Curtis, and all the little chores that made up domestic life, and he'd been so disconnected, then, from the days when taking a skimmer out into the countryside had been his first and best way to unwind. He really _had_ changed, in deep space, and on coming home, and he spent a few of the hours of his skimmer trip thinking through who he'd been and who he wanted to be. It was almost a disappointment, to see the town outskirts where the Holts had set up shop.

This turned out to be quite a large house - not _exactly_ a farmhouse, but definitely built on similar lines. The driveway was wide enough for his skimmer and then some, and the garage clearly doubled as a mechanic shop, because no self-respecting Holt could just drive a vehicle bought off a lot without doing _something_ to it.

Casa Holt housed a family of four, but saw no need to make it looke like the adult children were living in the rooms they'd grown up in. No, _this_ house was big enough for all four adults in the house to have their own rooms, their own bathrooms, their own sitting rooms. This was a family living together by choice, not budget constraints, but the house didn't have any 'mansion' vibe to it. No, everyone here was busy with their lives and their projects and they simply found it more convenient to have one big house rather than several smaller ones. If and when Matt or Pidge got married and had kids of their own, there was room here for children, too. If anything it would just broaden the range of the toys.

Shiro suspected this was Colleen's doing first. She'd lost her whole family one by one, and now that she had them back she wasn't letting them out of her sight. Holts being Holts, the family had simply adapted.

Colleen was waiting for him near the garage as he set the skimmer down, the family dog clearly excited but sitting obediently at her feet. She smiled as he took off the flight goggles. "Shiro," she said warmly. "Glad you found us all right. This is Bae Bae," and she indicated the dog, who barked on cue, "and I'm your primary host while you're here." She grinned, relaxing a bit. "Which is to say, if you get told anything contradictory or that doesn't seem to make sense, I'm the one you talk to. I'm afraid our house can be chaotic to the first time visitor - and since last time you visited we were in an entirely different house and neither of my children had left Earth yet, you _are_ a first time visitor."

Maybe so, but Shiro remembered Colleen well enough to know better than to argue. He simply smiled and said 'Yes, Ma'am', amused that being here was enough to make him feel like a recent graduate again. She'd been under his command on the Atlas - but this was definitely not the Atlas, and Colleen was clearly the authority here. The second soul, the one that really _hadn't_ ever been to see the Holts on their own terms, was having a lot of 'oh, so _this_ is what it feels like' moments, but quietly, off in the back of Shiro's mind.

Colleen led him into the house, and gave him a quick visitor's tour - living room, kitchen, bathrooms, and a guest room. "Get settled, and then come into the kitchen when you're ready. Dinner will be at six, and the children have insisted that tonight is lasagna."

Shiro perked up at that. He wasn't all that good a chef, although he could prepare edible versions of most rice based dishes. Pasta tended to be beyond him, especially the kinds that took a long time. Lasagna was something he'd only ever had with the Holts, or at restaurants. So the, "That would be wonderful, thank you," was entirely genuine. 

She left him to get settled, which didn't really take that long. Shiro had never been much for possessions. The bulk of being 'settled' was just the strange feeling of being _out_. Out of the clinic, under Earth's sky. He wasn't having the same panic attacks he'd had on the trip out to Altea. On the contrary - this felt...right. Wonderful, even. Like...breaking out of a shell. Still, he tried to bear in mind the doctors' advice. After all - he hadn't really run into the rest of the family yet.

Shiro took a little while to meditate before following the smell of cooking to the kitchen, where lasagna was indeed baking. Along with garlic bread. Colleen startled when Shiro used his floating hand to get a strainer down from a shelf for her to rinse salad with. "That reminds me," she said. "Matt and Sam have a project they'd like to show you. Just let me get this lettuce rinsed and I'll take you there."

"I could wander," Shiro offered.

"No, you really couldn't," said Colleen. "There are security codes involved." She smiled brightly. "You'll see."

Shiro blinked. Security codes? At _home_? But he wasn't about to argue. "Can I help in here, then?"

Colleen eyed that floating arm again. "Sam always gets carried away," she mused. "Tell you what. I'll get out the sauce jars for you to open."

Shiro looked at his arm. "...It's always worked very well," he said.

"As a weapon of war I'm sure it did," said Colleen. "But as a useful prosthetic it's extremely limited. You'll see." She set the jars of pasta sauce and dressing down in front of him, and Shiro obligingly used his floating arm to open them. Meanwhile, she finished washing the greens and vegetables for the salad and set them aside. "All right. Bae-Bae!" she called, and the dog came running. To Shiro, she said, "He can guide you where you want to go, but I'm afraid he's no help at all for security codes. Just call for him if you get lost."

She led the way out of the kitchen, to a slender door that looked like your average utility closet. Unless you knew the Holts well enough to know that they never bothered with old school style cleaning supplies when they could just build a machine to do it for them. Colleen rapped on a panel and it opened to reveal a keypad. She tapped a code, and the back wall opened to reveal a utilitarian elevator. She gestured to Shiro. "Go on. Take Bae-Bae with you. Sam and Matt should be on level seven. And remember, dinner's at six!"

Shiro got into the elevator, thinking _they have seven basement levels?_ as the dog got in with him. He hit the number seven and the elevator closed and started moving. Clearly they did have seven levels. Maybe more. Probably more. Because if the Holt family felt the need to build under their house like this, there was probably a lot going on. It felt very secret agent - but of course _that_ was very Holt, too.

The doors opened and Shiro found himself in a clean lower level, the kind that could be easily disinfected if need be. This one was a workshop. Tools in neat spaces on the walls, gauges and meters and a small personal forge. And yes, Sam and Matt, and a worktable between them. They turned as the doors opened and the dog ran out to greet them.

"Hey, Shiro," said Matt happily. "Long time no see. You've lost a lot of weight."

"So I'm told," said Shiro. "But your mom seems keen on fixing that. You must have air filters in the elevator shaft or you'd smell the lasagna."

Sam grinned proudly. "We do, of course. She's got other ways to get our attention. I see the arm's holding up."

"Pretty well," Shiro nodded. "Occasionally gets little things caught in the finger joints, but nothing serious."

"We've been designing a new arm for you," said Matt, stepping aside to show it on the table. "You know. One you can wear normal shirts with."

Shiro looked at it. It was, truly, a work of art. Smaller, sleeker, yet every bit as elegant in its flourishes as the one he had. "...It's magnificent," he said. "But do I need surgery for it?"

"That's the beautiful thing," said Sam. "This one swaps with the one you have. So if you need a weapon, you've got one. But if you _don't_ need a weapon, you get full utility." He indicated some little clamps. "Earth magnet clamps. They'll hold this arm to your existing frame as long as you keep it powered. So what you do to swap them is, power down your arm and set this one near the field generator in your shoulder."

Curious, Shiro tried this. The floating arm dropped to the ground as soon as he turned off the field generator, and he picked it up to put on the table. The new arm - well, it was a full _arm_ , not just a hand and forearm. He gripped it by the bicep and turned on the field generator with his thumb as he brought the arm near. It automatically snapped into place, the way magnets did. Immediately he could feel the arm sending him data - texture, temperature, sturdiness of anything he touched. It was incredible. Shiro touched the worktable, took Matt's hand, petted the dog. His mind was adjusting quickly, translating the impulses the way it would with a flesh and blood arm. It felt...real. Part of him. "This is amazing," he said quietly.

"There's a lot more to it," said Matt proudly. "There's a computer in there, like your paladin gauntlet had. Also a small laser, and several lockpicks in the fingers. This arm isn't a weapon, but it should still be helpful."

"And you can test it out at dinner," said Sam. "We'd like to do some adjustments on your old arm anyway."

"Um. Sure," said Shiro, still flexing the new arm just to see how it moved, how it felt. It felt like _having an arm_. A real arm. It had weight, which the floating one didn't. It felt lighter than the galra arms had been, it didn't tug him down to the floor. White enamelled fingers flexed, and he touched them with his other hand. Warmth, texture. Softness - a coating? It didn't feel like holding a robotic hand, it felt like ...shaking a gauntlet's hand. You could feel the warmth of a flesh and blood hand beneath the metal. That was the feeling even though there was no flesh and blood beneath. The Holts watched with scientific delight as Shiro couldn't stop himself from touching anything around the room with both his hands, comparing. "This is really...amazing."

"And yet, it may be only the second best thing we offer while we're here," said Sam with a proud little sigh. 

"Pidge just had to one up us," Matt agreed. "She had some business at the Garrison to deal with today, but she'll be back for dinner. She might be back already."

At the mention of the Garrison, Shiro's smile faded a bit. "Why are you hiding so much?" he asked. "I mean, seven underground levels? Hidden elevators? Interior passcodes?"

Matt looked to his father. Sam said, quietly, "We can't trust the Garrison anymore, Shiro. They hung us out to dry to protect their reputation. They'd have kept you from ever finding the Lions. They kept _me_ a prisoner for over a year. If we hadn't disobeyed them we'd have lost Earth to the Galra."

"We get it, they're doing the best they know how," said Matt. "But their best isn't good enough for us anymore. We don't do our research on Garrison grounds or with Garrison funds anymore. Not directly, anyway. And if trouble comes to Earth again, we're making sure we can face it together. As a family."

"And just so you know, we consider you and the other paladins our family, too," said Sam firmly. "Your new arm can call for help, among several other potentially useful tricks in a tight situation. We'd like to rework your old arm as well. If it's to be your weapon, it could stand some improving."

"All right," said Shiro. "I can leave it with you...but give me the power crystal, would you? I think Lance would probably like to have it."

Matt blinked. "Oh, right," he said, remembering. "It's from Allura's..." he trailed off. "Right. We'll be sure you leave here with it then."

shiro looked at his wrist, realizing only a half-second after performing the gesture that he really _was_ feeling a bit dislocated; the arm felt so natural that he'd checked for the monitor he'd used to wear on that wrist that kept track of his muscle condition. The prosthetic, however, showed him a time display - local Earth time, and Imperial time which still served as an interstellar standard. As he lowered his arm, the display turned off.

Sam gave him a knowing but proud and amused look. "I thought the gesture should do _something_ useful," he said. "And your watch says it's dinner time, so mission accomplished."

Still wondering how Sam had anticipated muscle memory from so long ago kicking in, Shiro accepted the change of topic and let the Holts lead the way back up to the main level of the house. Once the elevator door opened, the mouth-watering smell of baked pasta filled the air. His companions wasted no time at all bustling to the kitchen.

Pidge was already there, preparing bowls of salad for everyone, and little plates of garlic bread. "Good timing," she said. "I only just got in myself. I shouldn't have spent so much time on New Olkarion."

Shiro blinked. "You found the Olkari? They're all right?"

This got all four Holts giving him a surprised look. "It's one of the first projects we started on after Pidge came back without Green," said Matt. "We found their colony by looking for their backup transmissions."

" _Years_ ago," said Pidge with cheerful obliviousness; lasagna was incoming. It distracted the male Holts as well, and there was reverent silence while it was cut and served. 

"How's the arm handling?" asked Sam conversationally, after a few bites.

"It feels real," said Shiro, pleased. "I can feel the fork in my fingers, and the warmth of the pasta rising."

Pidge grinned a bit evilly. "Okay, so. What I was talking to the Olkari about was whether we could give you your _actual_ arm back. You know. Flesh and bone and blood and all that. And we're pretty sure we can do it. There'd be an extended medical pod stay though."

Shiro froze. "Extended medical stay" had never been a phrase he'd liked - the pods in particular always seemed to bring out the queue of nightmares. But - to be whole again, to have two hands and two arms and no worries about someone else using one as a back door to his brain...that was a _lot_. "...How 'extended'?" he asked.

"We're not entirely sure," Pidge admitted. "We've gone over the figures and everything checks out, but it hasn't been tried on humans. But probably a few weeks. Doerk said that if you do this, you're going to want to put on a lot of weight before entering the pod." She gave Shiro a critical up-and-down. "And he was assuming what you _used_ to look like. We'd probably be talking nothing but fast food for at least a few months."

" _Katie_ ," said Collen firmly, in the tone parents everywhere use to mean 'watch it, missy'.

Pidge gave her mother an impatient look. "I'm not going to dance around the obvious, Mom. Shiro's lost a lot of weight, and most of what he weighed to start with was muscle mass. That's just observable fact." To Shiro, she said, "I'd give you a tour of my Garrison work, but - you're in _no_ shape for that. And I'd need Matt to run interference. The brass really wants to talk to you, Shiro. Where 'talk to' means 'size you up'. They still haven't found a replacement captain for the Atlas. If I took you onto Garrison grounds they'd have an 'emergency' for me to deal with in no time just so they could get you alone."

Shiro really, really wanted to tell her he could handle himself. But the thought - just the thought - of having to felt exhausting. The thought of dealing with generals and officials, knowing what he now knew...he just didn't want to. And he was aware, too, that if he walked in and they did _anything_ to keep him there, Keith would be as diplomatic as a brick to the nose about getting him back out. Matters could escalate very quickly. Better to avoid the whole problem. "...Maybe just tell me about it?" he asked. "Clearly I've been out of touch too long."

"Well, you know, being locked up in a room without computers will do that," said Pidge, although she probably meant it kindly. She looked toward her parents before going any farther, though.

Colleen considered the unspoken question. "Yes, you're allowed to talk shop over dinner tonight," she decided. "As long as you let Shiro eat."

Pidge, Sam, and Matt all acted as if a muzzle had been taken off, nodding excitedly. "So tell him about the Voltron-2 project first," said Matt.

"I was just going to," said Pidge, between bites. "So. The Garrison is _really_ annoyed that Allura took Voltron off the board. And I mean _part_ of that is a fundamental confusion about who was taking whose orders and how Voltron worked, but part of it really is that Earth doesn't _know_ much about the universe around it. Thanks to us the Garrison knows a lot about stars so far away we can't even see them, but we still know very little about the stars in our own sky. And the Garrison's always wanted to know more about the world that's around us."

Sam nodded. "And when I came back with the data from the castleship, it launched discussions we'd had to shelve decades ago, because we didn't have access to the kind of power we'd need to reach even the nearest stars within a human lifetime. Now the Garrison knew that power existed and where to look for it. While we were all off dealing with Honerva, a part of the Garrison was already looking at what to do with the Atlas and Voltron when the war was over. Exploration and colonization were both very much on the table."

"Only we only came back with the Atlas," said Matt dryly. "And you stepped down to be with Curtis, and no captain after you has been able to make Atlas transform. Which the upper brass think is really important for defense purposes."

"So," said Pidge, having used her kinsmen as means to get more lasagna down, "The Garrison hit on the Voltron-2 project. They'd build an exploration team that draws on the Atlas for power just like the MFEs, but that can really go close in and determine if a planet can be mined for resources or even terraformed for colonization. Fifteen vehicles in total - five air, five ground, five marine. Each set of five able to make a sort of smaller Voltron-like mech, and all fifteen together able to make a much bigger, tougher mech. The MFE planes have just finished conversion to fill the Air team, and Griffin's been made the head both of the Air team and the entire Voltron-2 squadron. With us so far?"

Shiro had his mouth full of pasta, because there remained such a thing as priorities and Colleen's cooking deserved his attention. But he did nod and make a 'go on' gesture with his fork.

"Now, we were all in favor of this in general terms," said Sam. "There's a lot we don't know even about worlds in our own galaxy, as the discovery of Trebi highlights. But we started taking a closer look at things when the Garrison brass started adding riders on to the construction orders."

"Things like the vehicles have to use keys," Matt clarified. "And any steps that might make the machines aware, the way the Atlas seems to be aware, and the Lions were aware, are to be avoided."

Colleen got up to pour wine for the group, and serve Shiro seconds before he could make any halfhearted gesture of refusal. To his amusement everyone paused while she did so. When she was seated again, and Shiro sampled the wine to find it went very well with the lasagna, Pidge said, "The thing is, Shiro, I've been making studies of quintessence as it applies to machines. What the Alteans loved to call alchemy. Crystal technology blurs that line in a big way, because Balmera crystals are quintessence. Solidified, crystallized quintessence. Working with quintessence based fuels affects everyone nearby. I've been running tests for years. Even galra fuels are still quintessence based - the druids just did something weird to it, to make it enhance darker emotions and negative reactions. I'm guessing Zarkon liked to keep his soldiers eager for battle, or something." She waved a fork. "Anyway. Not my point. My point is, I can build the vehicles. I've got them mostly done, in fact. And I've done as the Garrison wanted and they're key based. But I don't think I can keep them from becoming sentient, sooner or later. Just the constant need for fuel, the continual flow of quintessence, is going to _create_ life sooner or later."

Shiro looked blank. "And...that's a bad thing?"

"Think Sincline," advised Pidge. " _Living_ doesn't mean _nice_ , necessarily. And I've only got a limited pool of living machines to study, but what I've got suggests that the life the ships take will depend on the life they're exposed to. The Garrison wants soldiers. People who follow orders."

Shiro sighed. "I see your point."

"That's what's still holding up the Atlas selection," said Matt, between bites. "Pidge told them what to look for - someone like you. But people like you..." he trailed off, grinning.

Sam tipped his wine glass toward Shiro. "What my children are trying to say is you know when _not_ to follow orders, and there are generals who find that a problem."

Shiro smiled, and found the polite mask really felt like a _mask_. He'd never thought of himself as a rebel, or some kind of moral guardian. He'd felt ...not indignation, but _betrayal_ , to find what the Garrison had done to preserve its reputation, to maintain control. He'd joined up with pride. He'd been honored to wear the uniform. And the Garrison had left him - would have left the entire planet - to die at the hands of the galra. He didn't have words for that, yet. 

Pidge was giving him a very direct, very piercing sort of stare, sipping her wine. Like she could read his thoughts on the inside of his skull. "They've wanted to get their hands on you since the day you checked into that clinic," she said. "It's much easier to mold someone that's been broken. That's what boot camps are _for_. And they ordered me to monitor you at all times, and present regular reports."

The shock must have shown on his face, mask or no mask - the naked betrayed _shock_ that Pidge could calmly sit there, say that. Do that. Colleen snapped, "Katie," in a firm _bad dog_ tone that made Bae-Bae cringe on the other side of the room.

Pidge, entirely unruffled, reached forward to pat Shiro's hand across the table. "Have a _little_ faith, Shiro," she chided. "You're _family_."

Matt rolled his eyes. "What she means is, she gave the Garrison exactly what they asked for and nothing else," he clarified. "Your secrets are safe. Your therapists were absolutely _technically_ compliant with Garrison orders, and we're very good at finding _technical_ loopholes."

"The upshot of which is that I really can't let you go to the base," said Pidge, settling back to work on her dinner again. "Because if they _see_ you they're going to get an immediate and unfortunately accurate idea of just how much I've left out of my reports. They'll gun for you, and they'll try to gun for me."

"Don't worry about us, though," said Sam quickly. "We knew someone would have to stay and keep an eye on the Garrison. They can do a lot of good in the universe, if the right people are kept out of command. That's what we're doing. And we've got an exit strategy all worked out if the day comes that we can't do that anymore."

Pidge nodded. "I'm still the Green Paladin. And now that you're on your feet, I'm free to do a few things that really need doing." She paused. "By the way. What do you make of Griffin?"

Shiro blinked. "The Ares leader? He seemed solid enough. Quick on his feet. His team trusts him."

Pidge nibbled on warm garlic bread, thinking. "I can give him free reign to assemble a team that would follow him," she said. "But he was tapped to lead Voltron-2. _I_ need to have an idea how much help he needs to get a team together that will know when to tell the Garrison to stuff it. You do know Keith doesn't like him?"

"No, I didn't," Shiro blinked. Then frowned. "Oh. Wait."

"Yeah, your name was on that disciplinary report," Pidge nodded. "Pretty bare report though. What happened?"

That was a _long_ time ago, Shiro wanted to say, but dug up the memory anyway. "...Keith didn't really make any friends during his time at the Garrison," he said slowly. "It's not something he's good at. And it wasn't a secret that he'd gotten in because someone vouched for him; he was a long way from the Garrison's typical cadets. Add in that he was top pilot of his class, and he had ...trouble, finding his place. Keith never told me what Griffin said, but you know what he's like when you push his buttons."

"So...you figure Griffin was trying to remove a threat so he could take the top spot?" asked Pidge. "Or just being a jerk at a safe target?"

"The second," said Shiro. "I never figured Griffin for a long term planner. Pilots often aren't. He seems to have calmed down just like Keith did."

Pidge nodded thoughtfully. "All right. I think I know what to do with him now then. Thanks."

Silence reigned over the rest of dinner, which Shiro was more than fine with. The food was good, the wine was good, and he had a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I treasure your kudos and comments, and thank you all for the kind words.


	32. And The Little Dog, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Holts, one by one, get time to talk to Shiro. Pidge is too busy too right now; she has preparations to make.

"We should totally take these diplomatic jobs more often, boss," said Ezor cheerfully, taking cover behind a support arch.

Keith - taking cover on the other end of that arch, across the corridor - tried not to growl at her. Of course she liked the jobs that led to firefights two galaxies away from where he wanted to be. She'd have been fine with a firefight _next door_ , but Earth didn't have that many active neighbors yet. His fingers flexed around the hilt of his blade. He really hated being shot at. "Acxa, take out that camera."

Acxa was apparently neutral on the topic of being shot at, but she was easily the best marksman in the group. She waited for her moment, and took out the camera. That disabled the automated turrets for this stretch of corridor, leaving just the sentries.

"I got this, boss," said Zethrid, and charged the robots. They shot at her, of course, but she let her body armor take the hits. Once close enough she was more than strong enough to rip the heads off the sentries.

While she did so, Ezor and Keith used the cover she provided to get into rooms on either side of the corridor. Ezor was looking for the main computer systems; Keith was looking for living crew. 

That was the deal; capture the crew alive, especially the captain, bring them back to Lahn, and Lahn would allow his territories to rejoin the Empire. It was part of a long and aggravatingly tedious (to Keith) process of the various Galra warlords deciding where they wanted to stand, and from an external perspective it didn't really mean much. Nearly all the warlords were part of the overall galactic alliance _regardless_ , but rejoining the Empire meant that they were resigning their individual votes on Earth in favor of having the Imperial Representatives speak for them, and shifting their 'planet to shout at' from Earth to Daibazaal.

Kolivan thought it was important enough that the galra people be united to send Keith and his crew out to negotiate the less tractable warlords' shift. Keith, for his part, was mostly irritated that this tended to involve _repeatedly_ proving he was more than galra enough to handle whatever was thrown at him. Lahn at least should know better by now, but you didn't have to be all that bright to make it as a warlord. Provided you didn't bite off more than you could chew, and Lahn was a cautious (some might say paranoid) type. Having several of your ships destroyed because you broke into the wrong abandoned base could do that to a person.

The lights flickered for a few moments, as Keith moved from room to room; that meant Ezor had found the main computer room and was disabling the security measures. It was also the signal for Acxa to come join Keith, and for Zethrid to join Ezor, as they wouldn't be needed to take out the automated defenses now.

"You should come out and surrender now," called Keith, knowing they weren't going to but willing to offer them a chance to avoid injury. The olive branch was rewarded with a brief hail of gunfire down the corridor. _Thanks for letting us know where you're hiding,_ thought Keith, and gestured to Acxa to cover him. By the blasts there were at least three people in there, possibly six or more. Unless someone had gotten that cybernetic option to add on extra arms, anyway. 

"Alive," Acxa reminded him as they ran toward the door where the prizes awaited.

"Set your pistols on stun then," said Keith. "I'll use the flat edge as much as I can but they're probably going to lose some armor."

~*~

Shiro hadn't realized how draining the Holts were until he returned to his room to sleep. The moment the door closed felt like invisible strings of tension were cut, and he was suddenly _overwhelmingly_ exhausted. Weirdly enough, the new arm seemed to help with that; reaching in the dark for the edge of the blanket, or just the light weight of it as he turned on his side, seemed to tell something in the back of his mind that all was well. He wasn't _defenseless_.

Still, when morning came, even the scent of someone cooking breakfast wasn't _quite_ enough to lure him out of the room. He wasn't shaking, as such, but he did have to fight a kind of aversion to going out that he wasn't used to having and didn't really know what to do with. The doctors had said to listen to himself, pay attention to what his mind might be trying to tell him, and that was...fine, as far as it went, but what was the point of coming all this way if he wasn't going to talk to anyone?

Maybe...

He didn't get farther than that when there was a scratching at the bottom of the door. Thinking it was probably safe to deal with the dog, Shiro opened it - and was very surprised that Bae-Bae went from 'hyper jumping overgrown puppy' to very calm and still and affectionate within moments of entering. 

But it was certainly welcome. Shiro sat down in one of the room's chairs and gave the dog attention, testing out his new prosthetic with scritches and rubs. And somewhere during that, the unease that had bothered him melted away, and he was able to follow the smell of food without fighting an instinct to retreat.

~*~

Pidge missed Shiro's arrival at breakfast. She'd left several hours earlier, before sunrise.

Video really didn't translate presence very well. It had been one thing to see Shiro getting smaller on her little monitor; it was very much a different thing to have him here, in her house, and be struck over and over how much Shiro had _lost_ in recent years. He looked a lot older. He _moved_ like someone a lot older. And she knew, intellectually - because she'd been in communication with the doctors - that Shiro could get back all the mobility and health he'd lost once he was up to it. But it was still striking and more than a little disturbing to see him so...careful, so ...shy. There was an aura of nakedness about him that made her very uncomfortable on his behalf, when she let herself feel it.

This was what she got as a byproduct of all those quintessence studies, she chided herself, but _today_...today she was going to start acting so it was safe for Shiro to visit the Garrison.

She'd spent years gathering information. But information was a key; it had no real effect until it was turned in a lock.

~*~

Colleen took charge, so Shiro didn't see Pidge at all, and Sam and Matt both departed for the Garrison after breakfast.

"Yesterday looked like it might be a bit much for you," said Colleen gently. "So today it's just me and Bae-Bae."

"I...appreciate the concern," said Shiro carefully, "But shouldn't I have been part of that discussion?"

"I suppose that depends on how likely you think you are to win an argument with Katie just now," said Colleen, and Shiro gave up because no, that really wasn't an argument he'd want to have.

"I must look pretty bad," he said instead.

Colleen hmm'd, as she went about her chores. "Different," she said. "And a bit unsure. Sam was like that too, you know. Once the war was over, and he had time to really think about everything."

Shiro blinked. "He never said."

"And ruin your wedding?" asked Colleen. Once the dishes were in the washer, she dried her hands, cleaned off the surfaces, and gestured to Shiro to follow her. "Sam really envied you, at the time. Having your life together and everything. He feels a bit guilty about that right now."

"Why?" asked Shiro, baffled. "It's not his fault."

"He thinks he should've seen it coming, of course," said Colleen briskly, as Shiro followed her to the secret elevator. "Like you, he survived by doing the work the Empire put him to. But unlike you, the work he was put to put the Earth in danger. He had a very hard time with that for a while. And that he didn't fight back against Sanda sooner; that Adam's life was in his hands and he failed him. And you."

Ah. Shiro was starting to see why it was Colleen telling him this, and not Sam himself. "I never blamed him, you know that," he said quietly. And he really hadn't. Although the harsh truth behind that was Shiro _knew_ Sam. He could stand up for family, but the more distant the relationship the harder it got for Sam to overcome his essentially introverted nature enough to raise a fuss. He'd fought for Shiro to go on the Kerberos mission - but they'd done several missions together by then, and Sam didn't really have a lot of friends. He was proud as hell of his brave warrior children, but it was Colleen they'd gotten that courage from.

Collen smiled at him, and hit the number 6 in the elevator. "I know," she said. "You wouldn't. But it took him a long time to forgive himself. And in the meantime...he had the same conflicted expression on his face anytime the Garrison came up, that you wear now."

"I could swear I was never this easy to read before," sighed Shiro.

"You weren't," Colleen agreed. "And I'm guessing you feel very weak and vulnerable right now. But it's all right. You're among family here, Shiro. And if I read my daughter's written tone correctly, she's busy making sure you'll be safe." The elevator door opened, and...

...Colleen grew plants. Shiro knew that. But level six was ...it was a _sphere_. With plants in neat lines like rays, and a light shining at the center. Colleen stepped off the elevator through divided doors onto a floating platform, and held out her hand for Shiro to join her. The double doors were moving, albeit slowly, and the moment he _did_ join her they swung closed, revealing there were plants growing on the interior side of them. They were standing inside a green, growing sphere. It smelled...wonderful. A gentle breeze blew constantly, carrying the scents of the growing things everywhere.

"I've almost got the interstellar biome sorted," Colleen said happily. "Wind, constant light, the sphere rotation at a steady fifteen degrees per hour, just need to sort out bees. I'm thinking automatic drip hives along the interior wall rather than at the center, so that the excess honey can be collected easily. But a rotating sphere has problems when it comes to harvesting."

The platform they stood on moved closer to the moving interior wall at Colleen's direction, letting her study the growth of the plants, touch the leaves, mist a few with a little spray bottle. Shiro simply let her talk; the sphere was a marvel of botany and engineering, and for a moment he was sad that Allura couldn't see it. "Wouldn't it be easier to just move the light source?"

"Plants need stresses in order to grow up healthy and strong," said Colleen. "Artificial wind helps, but they're still going to bend every time a ship accelerates or decelerates. Rotating the sphere along the x and y axis helps spread that force around so it's not always in the same two directions as far as the plant's concerned. At least, that's the theory. If I can get the biome right, a sphere like this in a ship could not only maintain fresh air for those aboard, but provide fresh greens, fruits and honey for the crew."

Shiro thought about this, applying the context of _this family_. "So...where is it you guys are going to go, if you decide that Earth isn't safe?"

Colleen smiled proudly, like Shiro had just presented her with a crayon drawing he'd done himself. That sort of parental, proprietary pride. "We have options," she said. "New Olkarion is an obvious one. But of course, if we decide we need to leave, where we go will depend a lot on why we have to leave. Don't worry. We'll make certain you get an address, even if for whatever reason we can't extend an invitation."

"And this...is for that, isn't it?" asked Shiro, carefully polite.

"Everything has more than one use," said Colleen serenely. "Ships like the Atlas, space cruisers that can house many smaller ships and their crews, will need things like this."

Shiro thought about that. "...Galra cruisers do without them," he said. "They just ...filter the air. Somehow." He wasn't actually sure how, now that he thought about it. Magic, possibly. 

"Well. We aren't the galra," said Colleen firmly. "And human beings need plant life like this around us. Not just for breathing, either."

Shiro really couldn't argue with that.

~*~

As General Hutchins was on his way back to his office from the commissary, he found he had a walking partner. "...Commander Holt," he greeted neutrally.

Pidge, keeping pace by lengthening her stride, smiled the bright smile of the sword of Damocles arcing down. "General," she said cheerfully. "Hawaii's lovely this time of year. I envy you."

The general didn't pause, but did glare dourly at her. "What _are_ you talking about."

"Your trip," said Pidge, handing him a folder. 

He opened it, to see all the travel arrangements had been made. Taxi fare to the airport, hotel accommodations, first class tickets. Several passes to various museums and other entertainments in Hawaii, along with unlimited flight passes between the islands. "If you think I'm actually going to _go_ -"

"Oh, you're _going_ , General," said Pidge, and while the tone was still pleasant there was an audible edge there now. "The only real question is whether you're going to come back."

General Hutchins stopped, scowling at her. "Are you threatening me?" he demanded. "Do you have any idea what happened to the last person that threatened me?"

"Yes," said Pidge, smile fading, and held up her cellphone. There was a picture there. "The problem with hiding the bodies, general, is bodies can be found again. You're going to use your vacation days in Hawaii. You're going to stay there, and have a lovely, lovely time. You send one text, one email, one _phone call_ to any member of the Garrison, you give any one _any_ hint that taking a nice long off the grid vacation wasn't your idea, and you won't have a career to come back to." The smile widened into a grin the general found deeply unpleasant. "Oh...and just in case you think you can get around my surveillance, or retaliate...honestly, I encourage you to try. You see, this is me being nice. This is me thinking maybe, if you're given a little smack now, you'll understand there are things you shouldn't do, and you'll shape up into the stellar leader some people think you already are. But if you're going to take this all expenses paid vacation and sulk like a five year old about it..." she shrugged. "It's _your_ career, general. Not mine. Now. You should really get back to your quarters and pack. The taxi will be here in an hour. Be a real shame if you weren't in it."

She walked off, letting him decide what to do, certain - and correct in that certainty - that his frustration would keep him from realizing she'd already put a microdot tracker on his jacket. She'd know soon enough if he was smart enough to move or proud enough to fight - and she had four more generals to visit and send to different isolated-yet-quite-nice parts of the planet for 'vacations' today.

~*~

Sam was the first to get home. Unlike his children, he'd had plenty of time for research while a prisoner of the galra, and this meant he didn't share their 'must catch up on EVERYTHING' intensity. Rather, he treasured time at home, and with the family. Colleen was preparing dinner, and so Shiro had found a room with afternoon sun to spend a little time quietly meditating. Sam didn't disturb him - or at least, he tried not to. He did sit down in a chair nearby, though, and it was strange how Shiro could just _tell_ when Sam was looking in his direction.

"I'm not ignoring you, you know," Shiro began. "I'm just - somehow everything's just a _lot_ , right now."

"I know how you feel, I think," said Sam quietly. "Did you see the cells, in the prison I was kept in?"

"No, but I know the size of a standard imperial cell," said Shiro. "You had time to get used to it, didn't you."

Sam nodded. "And of course when I got back to Earth, they kept me confined to a small zone for a long time. Weird, really, how you get used to the tinyness."

Shiro's lip quirked. _Tinyness_ wasn't a word, but it was still the only right word. "How'd you end up in this giant house?"

"The war ended, and Colleen insisted," shrugged Sam. "And the compromise was, we'd stay in the old house until this one was ready for us. Took several years, you know. And Colleen ...she stuck by me. Matt too. Katie..." his expression turned rueful, but remained understanding. "She tried."

"Pidge is better at empathy than most give her credit for," said Shiro. "She just doesn't usually know what to do with it. Especially if the right answer doesn't include protecting someone, or attacking someone else, or solving a science problem."

"She was ...really too young, to be a paladin," Sam sighed. "She's still working on that. It's another reason Colleen wanted us all to stay together. We help each other. We're all scarred, in our own ways."

"It's an enviable solution," agreed Shiro quietly. And it was, really. But the paladins had all gone their own separate ways. There was no way to just...build a big house for them all. They'd scattered too widely.

"I think it's why she made the consoles," said Sam, possibly following Shiro's thought. "No matter how far apart you all are, contact is just a quick button away. She made sure of that." He paused. "You know that most of the chatter has been about you, of course, lately."

"I didn't," said Shiro. "My doctors have been very careful about this whole reintroduction thing. Apparently I'm naturally inclined to dive off the high dive before verifying there's water in the pool, or something. But it doesn't really surprise me. Not after the past week or two."

"They love you, you know," said Sam. "They're not your crew. Not like Matt and I were your crew. You're...an older brother, or a favorite uncle."

Shiro debated letting Sam know that Matt tended to use that approach too, and decided against it. That was Matt's story to tell, if he wanted to. "They were just a bunch of frightened kids, stranded on the far side of the universe with no real idea of the dangers between there and here," he said. "A big brother was what they needed, not a drill sergeant."

"True enough," said Sam. "Sound reasoning. But the thing about being a big brother is it's not something you can just _stop being_. You're their big brother forever, now. And they've missed you, and they worry about you."

"So I've gathered," Shiro sighed, closing his eyes. 

"....Shiro, you're an only child, aren't you," Sam hazarded.

"What gave it away?" asked Shiro wryly.

"That you still seem to think 'big brother' is the same as 'leader'," replied Sam in a tone just as wry. "Matt isn't Katie's leader. He's her big brother, but he's not her leader."

"That's what they keep wanting of me, though," said Shiro tiredly. "Get up, get better, get back in the fight. I don't even know who it is they think needs fighting. I definitely don't know what good they think I'd be, if they're all up to date on the past year or so."

Sam sighed. "You know, if I didn't think we'd give you a heart attack I'd tell you to stay with us a few months," he said. "That isn't what your paladins want of you at all, though I can believe they're probably terrible about how they're going about things. They just want you to be all right, Shiro. And if you're not, well, they'd like to help you get closer to 'all right'. That's pretty much normal for anyone, even though in this case there isn't much if anything they can really do. It's normal to want to. That's all it is."

"I don't know when I stopped being all right, Sam," Shiro admitted, the admission soft and reluctant. "I can't remember what it was like to dream without worrying about nightmares. What it was really like to have two arms that were both mine. Look at the sky and see a vast unknown, a map full of blank space to be filled. I know there _was_ a time like that. I just don't remember what it felt like."

Sam nodded slowly. "...Colleen can't sleep unless I'm holding her hand," he said. "She used to grumble about losing sleep because of my snoring, but not since I came back to Earth. If Katie or Matt leave Earth for any reason they have to call in every day. It doesn't need to be a long call. They just have to let her know they're alive and well. She can't trust silence anymore. She'll put a brave face on it, of course. But if either of them ever tried to move out, I think it would kill her. She can't lose us again."

"Sounds like Keith," said Shiro. "Though I'm told in his case it's biological. Some sort of galra thing."

Sam blinked. "So is love, Shiro. Just a bunch of chemicals in the brain, some physiological responses. We know the chemical composition of most of the stronger emotions - the pharmaceutical industry supplies the psychologists who supply their patients when they're stuck in one state or another. It's all 'biological', Shiro."

Shiro frowned. "And you don't think Colleen could maybe use some of that help?"

"I think it's Colleen's choice to make," said Sam. "We have our nice big house and the kids check in when they go on trips. She doesn't force us to live here. She doesn't threaten us with suicide or some such thing. We know, and we understand, why she has the cracks she does, as she understands ours. She gets better slowly, with time, just like the rest of us. I'm sure she'd take the medications if, for example, Matt or Katie found someone who didn't want to live here with us. Colleen would never stand in the way of either of them finding love. But there's nothing wrong in her accepting help from us, either, or us offering it. Though I'm making it all sound very one-sided - as I said we're _all_ a bit damaged. Together, we form a whole that's much greater than the sum of the parts."

Shiro leaned back, lying flat on the floor now. "...Sounds nice."

"You've got the same kind of framework," said Sam. "It's just waiting for you to lean on it, use it. Though I suppose that will take practice."

"Playing matchmaker?" asked Shiro curiously. 

Sam gave him a genuinely blank look. It took several seconds before he mentally backtracked and worked out what Shiro was talking about. "You mean Keith?" he hazarded. "I meant all of them, Shiro. Though I suppose everything has to start somewhere. If you really think Keith is acting like Colleen though...why are you avoiding him? Did he do something terrible?" He paused. "Oh. You were thinking about chemical help for _Keith_. I suppose it's possible. He's half human, after all. We're a flexible species."

For a moment, Shiro was surprised at how quickly Sam hit on 'give him drugs', given his comments, and then he remembered that Matt and Sam didn't really _know_ Keith except remotely. They'd been on the castleship when Keith wasn't there, and on the Atlas - well, the Atlas was huge, Sam and Colleen had had their own duties, and it wasn't hard to just forget to get to know someone who'd pretty much kept to himself anyway. Keith's half-alien nature had probably been a major scuttlebutt topic on the Atlas, given he was Black Paladin. And the less well Sam knew someone, the more of an intellectual problem they became to him. Keith's emotions were presented as a problem; Sam was simply finding the most efficient solution for his friend.

And it _was_ kind of tempting. Keith had made his choice when too young to really know what that choice would entail, how far it could extend. To just say 'we'll find a way to undo it' was... _tempting_. He knew that if Sam came up with something, some pill or shot that broke that biological bond, and Shiro told Keith to do it, Keith _would_ because Shiro asked him to. He'd made it clear he was giving Shiro as much freedom as he could already. If Shiro decided this was just too much, that he didn't _want_ any kind of relationship...breaking that bond would be a kindness. It would mean Keith could be free to find someone else. And it was _that_ thought that led him to say, "That might be a good idea. If you'd be willing to work on it."

"Of course, Shiro," said Sam. "We can get the research started. Sooner or later we'll at least need a sample of Keith's blood, of course. Some biobed scans if you can."

But Shiro was already thinking ahead. And thinking about that immediate sensation of relief at the idea of just not dealing with this. And thinking about Pidge's reaction, when she heard. That last one was the hardest to gauge. He wasn't sure she knew Keith all that well, or cared, or how she saw the current situation. And something about the solution bothered _him_ , too, though he'd need more time to think without Sam discussing possible research avenues to really pin it down.

The second soul cut through a lot of the internal red tape with a single caustic thought. _So changing how someone thinks and feels is unforgivable if you use magic, but using chemicals it's just fine?_

Ah. That was it. That was the problem. And of course Keith would accept it if Shiro asked it. But not because he was some kind of mindless automaton. Because he loved. And he already saw that love as being a burden to Shiro, an unwanted gift. Keith could have asked Sam himself at any time to do this kind of research. Or the Olkari. If he _wanted_ , on his own, to break that bond he knew where to go to try it, and he hadn't. He'd do it if Shiro asked, to make it a last gift to Shiro himself. To set _Shiro_ free.

It was a mistake to think of doing this as anything but a favor to himself. Interrupting Sam's chain of thought, Shiro said, "On second thought...no. If Keith asks for it, sure, then give it a shot, but I think this isn't the right way for me to go."

Sam adjusted his glasses, peering at Shiro worriedly. "If you're sure, then."

~*~

Griffin got the fright of his life when he came out onto the hangar floor to find Pidge waiting by his plane. It didn't matter that she was younger than him, and it didn't matter that she was shorter. Or that technically they were now the same rank. He trusted his instincts. Pidge was worse than surprise generals.

She smiled at him, which didn't help the alarm bells at all. "Commander," she said. "Walk with me."

"Uh," said Griffin. "I was supposed to do some test flights today."

"Yep," said Pidge. "For me. So if I'm delaying it I've only got myself to blame. _Walk with me._ "

"Yes, ma'am," said Griffin, and followed after her as she made her way outside.

Pidge didn't mince words. "Let's start with the big one. Do you have a problem with Keith?"

Griffin blinked. "...Not if he doesn't have one with me," he tried, opting for the strictest form of honesty.

"Go on," said Pidge. Her tone said this was not a request.

"Look...I _had_ a problem with him," said Griffin. "He doesn't follow orders and he tended to get into the kind of trouble that brought the whole squad in for punishment, all right? He was a lousy cadet, no matter how well he could fly. I know he's your leader, your Black Paladin, and for the sake of the whole _planet_ I've just let it go. And it looks like he's calmed down at least enough that the only one getting shot at is him these days, and I can deal with that. But he's still lousy at chain of command."

Pidge just nodded. "That's fair," she said. "No trouble with him on Trebi, then?"

Griffin blinked. "No, not really," he admitted. "They mostly stayed out of our way. When we said we needed intelligence, his group even went and got us as much as they could." He frowned. "What's this about, anyway? He's not rejoining the Garrison, is he?"

"Let's just say I'm thinking ten steps ahead, shall we?" said Pidge. "If a situation arose that he were your CO, how would that go?"

"Some of us _can_ follow orders," said Griffin shortly, getting irritated. "I don't think he'd be a good leader for my team, but we've survived worse."

Pidge grinned at him. "Good," she said. "I think we've got this about where we need to have it, then. How's your recruitment going for the Voltron-2 project?"

"It's ...going," sighed Griffin. "The war kind of means that most of the people I could bring in are soldiers, not explorers."

"And that's a bad thing?" asked Pidge, watching him.

"Soldiers get _bored_ just cataloging rocks and rivers," said Griffin. "This project's going to need people like Kinkade and Leifsdotter. People that want to see new things and make notes about them. Who _can also_ fight, but who don't think of themselves as soldiers."

Pidge nodded, and there was approval there now. "Good. We're on the same page then. Do you have a problem with nonhuman pilots?"

"Should I?" asked Griffin, surprised.

"Very good," said Pidge. "You've got my backing then. I'll send you some personnel files that include non-Garrison trained personnel from other worlds. You pick and choose who goes where." She paused. "Oh, and next time a general tries ambushing you in your quarters, let me know."

Griffin's jaw dropped. He hadn't told anyone outside his team about that, and he'd only told them to warn them. Pidge smiled.

"I've got eyes everywhere, James Griffin," she said. "Including on my pet project and everyone associated with it. You have two weeks without interference from the brass, to get done everything you think needs to be done, the way you want it to be done. _Don't waste them_."

Griffin understood his instincts were entirely correct. Pidge wasn't in charge of the Voltron-2 project itself, just the construction phase. She wasn't a general. She should in no way have had the power she was clearly now exercising. But he believed, absolutely and utterly, that she could do everything she was saying, and everything she was implying. In the face of that, all he could say was, "...Thanks."

"Now get on with that test flight," said Pidge. "I want to see how Stratos looks."

~*~

When Matt came home, Shiro was out in what passed for a back yard; robot-manicured and neat, mostly the area served as Bae-Bae's playground. Shiro found it served nicely to get a little sun, and get away from the smell of Colleen cooking dinner. Earth's sun, Earth's sky, Earth's wind. It was very centering, and the dog adored having someone around to play fetch with. Shiro was finding that to play fetch with his new arm meant having a target in mind - he could throw a _lot_ farther than Bae-Bae could track the ball if he didn't pay attention. He was occupied enough with this - finding a patch of ground to aim at that would give the dog a good run that wasn't _too_ far - when Matt interrupted with a light, "Hey there."

Shiro realized Matt had changed a _lot_. The shaggy mane and layers of whatever clothes he could find that were in the broad range of fitting were long gone. A garrison jacket was held over one shoulder by a finger, a standard (if battered) garrison uniform being most of what Matt was wearing. He'd grown up, filled out, and had the kind of neatness that was more associated with someone who'd had to live a long time without that as an option, than the precision of military life. Matt came in for a hug and Shiro gave it, finding Matt had gotten strong in the intervening years. This man did not live behind a desk.

"The folks being a little too intense?" asked Matt lightly.

"A bit," Shiro conceded. "Most of it goes over my head, still. You're a one-family space organization now." Bae-bae barked at him, and he obediently threw the ball again.

"We've always looked to the future," said Matt. "And the future's always been out there rather than down here." He tilted his head. "Missing the sunlight?"

"Some," Shiro agreed. "Didn't realize how much until I offered to take your dog outside to play."

Matt smiled; it crinkled the scar on his cheek that Shiro had put there, long ago. "Nothing quite like everything being 'home', I guess. I was sorry to hear about you and Curtis."

Take the ball, throw the ball. "I thought everyone figured it'd fail eventually, except me."

Matt snorted. "Eagle eye hindsight," he said. "He's a good man. We're just complicated people."

" _We?_ " asked Shiro, amused.

"Oh, so the family _hasn't_ given you the rundown of how broken everyone is?" asked Matt. "But we're stronger together. We get better, together."

"You seem fine," said Shiro.

"I'm good at seeming," Matt replied, and watched Shiro throw the ball a few more times. "You used to be better at it."

"Apparently therapy ruins your poker face," said Shiro dryly. "So what is my utter lack of one saying this time?"

Matt smiled a bit. "That you don't know where you belong," he said. 

"Honest face, then," Shiro admitted, throwing the ball again.

"You'll find yourself again," said Matt with the confidence of someone who'd been there. "I know you probably have no idea how, right now, but you will."

Shiro absently shook doggie drool off the ball before throwing it again. "How did you, then?"

"I probably had it easier than you do," Matt admitted. "Rebel commander, then garrison scientist because why not. But here I'm son and brother. It's not a bad zero to start over from. I know who that is."

"So...who are you when you're not home, then?" asked Shiro.

"Still working on that," Matt replied. "Mostly I seem to be Pidge's alter ego. When she can't watch all her threads, I help out. And remind her that there's people on the other end of them."

Shiro blinked. "Pidge's...threads?"

Matt laughed, and took the ball Bae-Bae was plaintively offering, to throw it out into the yard. "We all watch the Garrison. Pidge is more proactive than that, though. She keeps an eye on the officers, and if they look like they'll be the problem Sanda was, she nudges things to make sure they're not in a position to do any harm. But we've got a lot of officers, a lot of cadets - just a lot of _people_ , and she has other projects of her own and needs to sleep sometimes. Today she needed my help setting things up so it's safe for you to visit the Garrison."

Shiro was now mentally running to keep up. "Is it really usually _not_ safe?"

"For _you_ , yeah," said Matt. "They want you back, Shiro. To command the Atlas, and train a replacement. Well, choose and train, really. Everyone agreed that if you do that it should be because you want to. So. Since she really, really wants to show off Chip and the Voltron-2 project, we had to make sure a lot of not-exactly-terrible but very narrowly focused officers went on very pleasant vacations to very remote corners of the world. So there's no pressure on you to do anything you don't want to."

Shiro was almost angry. Everyone was being so protective, like he was made of spun glass. Like he couldn't fight his own battles anymore. He'd never appreciated being protected. He'd worked so hard to make sure no one treated him differently because -

Matt reached out to clasp his shoulder. "It's not forever, Shiro. You're not broken. But getting better means not pushing things too far, and Pidge _really_ wants to show you her masterpiece. In a few more months, we'd stand back and share popcorn while you put the Garrison brass in their place. But right now, we didn't want to take the risk."

Shiro closed his eyes and tried to not be angry. It was logical. It was practical. It was very, very Pidge. "I guess she's very proud of it."

"Worried, really," Matt admitted. "She's good - amazing, really - but she's not Alfor. And what she's been asked to do is almost impossible. She's really been hoping she could get your take on it."

"What would she need my take for?" asked Shiro, surprised.

"I'll let her explain all that tomorrow, when she takes you to see it," said Matt. "But for now, go with 'this is why she's manipulating officers and making sure you'll be left alone'. She doesn't want anything sidetracking your visit." More gently, he added, "She's an amazing mind. Keeps up with the best Olkari without even breaking a sweat. But she can get caught in the twists of a problem sometimes. Whether she _can_ do something as opposed to whether she _should_. She trusts you to know the answers to those kinds of questions."

They took turns throwing the ball in silence, until Bae-Bae plopped the ball down between them and flopped onto his belly, panting. Shiro bent to give the dog a friendly scritch. "Guess it's time to go in. Pidge back?"

"Probably soon," said Matt. "She won't miss dinner. Mom wouldn't stand for that, especially while we've got you visiting."

~*~

Kolivan accepted their report in silence. The crew had definitely taken a few hits during the course of it all; Keith's arm was in a sling, Zethrid had one thigh bandaged and was leaning on Ezor, Acxa had a new cut on her cheek. Nothing deeply serious, and in a few days they'd be fine, so they waited for Kolivan's verdict.

"This is acceptable," was the highest praise anyone ever got from him, and when he said it, they relaxed. "Queen Orla is set to arrive on Earth within the week. The handling of this was timely." He nodded approval. "Were the pirates as formidable as your injuries suggest?"

"Skilled?" asked Keith. "Not really, no. They just outnumbered us fifteen to one, and had powered sentries. We found and killed their druid."

"They had a druid?" asked Kolivan, now alarmed.

"Had," Acxa emphasized.

"You've got to expect that there are probably isolated druids still around the universe," said Keith. "Honerva didn't kill them all directly. She let them destroy themselves. Four blades to one druid wasn't hard."

"Keith's _really_ good at taking out druids," Ezor chipped in proudly. 

"And without the druid to provide fuel for the droids and their ships, they're not going to rebuild into a threat," finished Keith. "Lahn can manage that sector on his own. We delivered the rest of the crew to him for questioning and trial."

"Very good," said Kolivan, in the tone that said he meant 'that's that' rather than 'well done'. "Contact me when you're ready for your next assignment."

It was a dismissal, and they took it as one, hobbling back to the Janus for some well earned rest. Zethrid wasn't inclined to go right back into the medical pod, Acxa and Ezor's injuries were minor, and Keith couldn't use a medical pod because his arm had been hit by a Druid's blast - using quintessence pods on druid injuries tended to make them worse. The four split up when they got back on board, heading to quarters. Keith checked for messages first, and found one waiting on the secure console.

Tapping his access code in got Lance's face.

> _"Hey Keith," said the worried image. "I don't know what you're up to at the moment, but could you drop by Trebi when you've got a day or three free? Nothing official so don't worry about the palace, but I need to talk to someone and at the moment you're pretty much the only candidate. Meet me here when you can."_

A set of coordinates flashed at the end; Keith recognized it as still being within the Trebian city, but fairly distant from the palace. One of the parks, probably. "You could've just said what the problem was," he told the screen tiredly. "All right, drama queen." He tapped the confirmation code in for reply; message received, on my way.

He settled into the pilot's chair and started the checks to get the cruiser moving. Trebi was as good as anywhere to rest up. And maybe Lance could tell him how Shiro was doing.


	33. Testing Limitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro hits a wall; Keith breaks one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:**
> 
> 1) Yes, Matt was wounded in the leg, not the face - but he sports a scar on his face and doesn't walk with any kind of limp, so yes, I got the two events mixed up. I am, however, _deeply_ flattered that y'all's first reaction wasn't "she done fucked up" but "OMG A CLUUUUE". 
> 
> 2) Yes, in this 'verse, Matt's got a Thing with N7. And I tried to find a place to wedge it into the conversation, but right now the Holts are a little too worried about Shiro to be bringing him their own problems. (Mostly.) I may be able to come back around to it later, depending on how the story goes.
> 
> And now, back to our story...

It was difficult for Shiro to decide whether the utter exhaustion that hit on closing the door to his guest room was really the work of the Holt family, or his own relative inability to deal with other people after so long at the clinic. He just knew that once an 'acceptable hour' for going to bed came around, he was asleep within minutes of crawling into bed. It was the primary evidence he had that this 'quiet visit' really was _pushing_ him, even if it didn't seem like it should be.

By some sort of general agreement, no one came to wake him. There was no particularly set schedule; when he was ready, then things would happen. Shiro would have felt guilty about this if he hadn't been hit quite so hard with how badly he _did_ seem to need the sleep. But when he did get up and get himself presentable, he found Bae-Bae waiting at his door. The moment he opened it, the dog rushed off - which wasn't what Shiro had expected, but when Pidge came back _following_ the dog, he understood. "You were waiting for me."

Pidge grinned. "Mom made it clear everything's on your schedule, while you're here. And we don't do electronic surveillance inside the house, but Bae-Bae's very well trained. So. Ready to see the Garrison? Or do you want breakfast first?"

"Definitely breakfast first," said Shiro. "Unless you've taught yourself to take food breaks while working on your projects."

Pidge blinked. "Right. Breakfast first," she agreed, as much of an admission of guilt as either of them needed.

She even let him eat in silence, although that might have had more to do with Colleen standing watchful guard over the table. Colleen's rule of 'no talking shop at the table' apparently meant a lot of meals were mostly silent, but at least it meant the food didn't get cold. Strongly suspecting that once they got to the Garrison Pidge would be running full steam for the rest of the day, Shiro took care to eat well. There might be a lunch, or might not, but either way this was probably going to be a repeat of the tour Hunk had given him - long and exhausting.

Nevertheless, Pidge was considerate about getting there, and not dropping too much information at once. "Keep your Garrison jacket on," she advised. "You don't technically have security clearance anymore, being retired, but with that hair and that jacket and the arm, plus being with me, nobody's going to stop you."

"I'm not an officer anymore, Pidge," said Shiro quietly. "I'm not a hero."

She slanted him a look to see if he was joking. Realizing he wasn't, she said, "The kind of work we did isn't the kind that expires, Shiro. I mean yeah, I've heard a few people try the 'what have you done _lately_ ' line, but generally I've found that asking them when 'saving the entirety of the universe several times and all of reality at least twice' expires shuts them up."

Shiro stared. "You don't actually do that, do you?"

"Of course I do," said Pidge, matter-of-fact. "I'm not asking for a castle or a jet full of money or a county of servants, Shiro. Mostly I'm just trying to keep people from making stupid, short-sighted mistakes. We paid a lot, to save the universe. All of us. Especially Allura and you. I'm not going to let everything we did be for nothing."

She parked the car while Shiro thought that over. It wasn't _that_ different from what his therapists kept telling him, but it was different enough to bother him. They hadn't saved the universe to then sign on as permanent caretakers. And yet - if _not_ them, then who? Did that responsibility really belong to anyone, or was it more a case of it belonging to _everyone_?

Regardless, Pidge seemed to know where _she_ stood on the question. Once Shiro got out of the car to join her, she set off at a brisk stride - for her; given he was rather taller than her, it was easy for him to keep up - for the hangars. "I really want to start with the masterpiece," Pidge admitted. "We've only got the Air Team filled in, since we just retasked the MFE pilots. But it's still progress."

She led him past several security checkpoints, and as Pidge had said, Shiro was waved through without having to show any kind of ID. He was sure one or two of the checkpoint guards were biting their tongues on asking for his autograph, too, which was a worry. _It's not like clones don't exist, after all,_ the second soul chipped in dourly. But since he was a clone himself - at least physically - he wasn't sure IDs would have actually improved the security at all.

Griffin, Leifsdottir, Kinkade and Rizavi were waiting in the hangar when Pidge opened the doors. So was...definitely a robot. Yes. That was a robot. It was much too small for even a child to be hiding in the torso. And it was wearing Pidge's glasses.

Pidge grinned as the four - no, five - pilots saluted Shiro, and he saluted back reflexively. "The new one is Chip," she said. "Matt and I have been working on him. Matt spent a lot of time around sentient AIs in the rebel fleet."

"Pleased to meet you," said Chip, and Shiro - trying very, very hard not to be too creeped out - recognized the voice as being based on the television program that had been made based on the paladins' time in space. 

Shiro eyed Pidge, who was grinning very proudly. "I need to have a talk with you sometime about your sense of humor," he said.

"Hey, eyes over here, buddy," said Chip. "I do have ears."

Pidge couldn't hold back the laughter anymore, and Shiro looked to the other pilots and got 'yeah, we know' looks of resignation in return.

"Chip is his own person, Shiro," said Pidge, getting a grip on herself. "And with him we have five on the Air Team. Which means showtime. To your vehicles, pilots. Give our guest a show."

"You heard the lady," said Griffin, and the pilots headed into their craft - some of which were clearly modified MFE planes, but Pidge apparently hadn't felt limited to fixed-wing aircraft. Chip had a ship too, and soon all five were zooming out of the hangar, roaring into the sky.

Shiro, watching them fly what he knew were basic maneuvers - mostly showing off that they worked together enough for precision formations - said, "You could have warned me about your robot."

"Would it really have helped?" asked Pidge knowingly. "Everyone has that reaction at first. I thought about making him more humanlike, but then I remembered how people tend to get around Keith once they know he's galra. We like to know what we're dealing with. So we went with a more obviously mechanical design. I wish I could say I'm surprised at you - isn't it who we are, not how we're made, that's important?"

"Let's go with 'some surprises require more coffee than others', shall we?" said Shiro. "Good formation work though."

"Air team does overall recon," said Pidge. "Each craft has advanced scanning and cartography equipment, enough to let them make a quick but pretty thorough map of any new world. Sensors in the outer skin note air pressure and atmospheric composition at various altitudes. The basis for the Land and Sea teams to build on."

"Pretty well armed, it looks like, too," said Shiro.

"Yeah, well," shrugged Pidge. "Just because it isn't settled doesn't mean it isn't inhabited by large things that'll totally try eating you, right?" She tapped her earpiece with a finger. "Form Stratos Fighter!"

Shiro watched - partly amused, partly genuinely impressed - as the five aircraft altered form and connected _in midair_ to form a rather formidable fighting craft. "Hunk and I worked on this part," she said, as the combined ship went through maneuvers. "You know he always wanted to make Voltron's head with the Yellow lion. I couldn't do that, _but_ each of the teams has this secondary combination form. Hunk's been experimenting with combined ships for a while now."

"Looks ready for a fight," said Shiro. "More than the individual ones, I mean."

"That's the idea," Pidge agreed. "The five separate craft can cover a lot of ground if it's safe. If it's _not_ , this is a viable option for defense. Of course, there's always the Atlas as backup too." To the flying ship, she said, "All right, disassemble."

Shiro watched the aircraft break apart and resume their normal configuration, quickly falling back into precision formation. "So this is all going to be on the Atlas?" he asked.

"All fifteen," Pidge nodded. "I gave Griffin the green light to choose who he wants, if he can do it quickly. Land team will be able to map out and even acquire underground mineral deposits. Sea team the same for undersea resources."

" _Fifteen_ pilots?" asked Shiro. "Don't you think that will be a bit hard to manage?"

"Actually, I'm hoping that fifteen pilots means the ships don't develop too much of a mind of their own," said Pidge. "The combining mechanics are impressive, but power-heavy. Each of these ships is running a crystal that's twice the size it would need to be if they didn't have the combination options. That's a lot of quintessence in each ship. A mind might handle five parts, but I'm hoping fifteen is too big a bite."

"Why is it such a concern?" asked Shiro. "The Lions were fine."

"You think?" asked Pidge. "We'd have been better off if you could've taken Black back. We'd still have had the real Voltron if you could have done that, and it wasn't your fault. That was the _Lions_ deciding who was and wasn't okay. And all right, the Garrison was getting too proprietary over the lions. So now they've got this, which is very much tied to the Garrison. I've done what I could to keep this Voltron under the control of its pilots, and to keep its power within the bounds of counterable - with time and effort, that is. I just don't know if it'll be enough."

Shiro watched quietly as the aircraft came back down, and one by one settled back into their hangar berths. It was dawning on him that he could leave the war behind, but it would never be _over_. Not really. That even when armies weren't clashing and weapons weren't being fired, there was still a _war_ going on, and Hunk and Pidge were still fighting it in their own ways. Pidge keeping the venal and vicious out of power, Hunk giving people food and shelter so they didn't have to fight to take them. He'd taught them to be paladins, and paladins they were. They hadn't changed, they'd just grown up. Seen what needed doing that flying a Lion wouldn't fix. _He_ was the one who'd been shortsighted. Or maybe just useless. Unlike them, he didn't really know what he could do, if it wasn't an actual battle. 

Well. For now he could put on the best brave face he had left and congratulate Griffin and the pilots on being part of something new, something that hadn't yet been tainted with compromise and failure. Maybe Earth _could_ create as enduring a legend as Altea had done. And it seemed to mean a lot to them, that he approved, that he encouraged them to do things right. They weren't cadets anymore, none of them were, but he was still...their hero.

~*~

Keith did not take the _Fang_ down to the Trebian city - while he wasn't against walking in general, he wasn't in the mood for a long hike right now. So when the Janus took its assigned orbital position, Keith whistled for Kosmo and got out the sack of rawhide boomerangs. Lance had said it would be a park; Kosmo could use time planetside to play in.

Lance evidently was not expecting Kosmo to make an appearance; Keith had a brief impression of a probably-carefully-staged sagelike zen lotus sitting position before the holycrapyikes yelp took over, and Kosmo bowled Lance over to lick his face. Arm in a sling or not, Keith couldn't help but laugh as Lance tried to dodge the giant wolf tongue and get out from under the furry beast. "Call him off! Call him off, Keith!"

"Not so much with the whole Altean friend-to-all-creatures thing, huh?" asked Keith. He did not call Kosmo off - honestly, he rarely told Kosmo to do anything. He trusted the wolf to know when enough was enough and usually, Kosmo did. Keith did, however, offer Lance his good hand to get to an upright position. It was only fair, since Lance's hair had been slobbered there first.

"Flowers," said Lance, wiping his face off with his shirt. "Flowers don't _drool_." He took in the sling. "What happened to you?"

"Druid," said Keith, and at Lance's spooked look, he clarified, "Dead druid."

"Hold still," said Lance seriously. "Druids are no joke."

Keith did so, and Lance held out a hand over Keith's injured arm. Keith could sense _something_ happening - and since he didn't know what, he stepped back.

"I said hold _still_ ," said Lance.

"Not until you explain what you're doing," said Keith. "You're not supposed to use quintessence on druid magic. It makes it worse."

Lance made an irritated sigh. "No, you're not supposed to use _medical pods_ to treat druid magic. It's not the same thing. Look, would you just shut up and trust me? I promise I'm not going to do anything weird."

"Well, _that_ moment passed twenty ticks ago," said Keith warily. But he wasn't unmindful of Lance throwing his own words back at him. So, with some reluctance, he stepped back into Lance's reach. "This isn't what you called me about, though."

"Actually it kind of is," said Lance, holding his hand over Keith's arm, like he was reaching to touch it but not quite closing the distance. "...Damn. That's some nasty stuff. No wonder druids made Allura's lip curl."

"Tell me what you're doing or I'm going to make you stop," Keith repeated levelly, because he could sense that weird tingle again. He couldn't see it, but he could _feel_ something happening.

"Separating the taint from your quintessence," said Lance in a quiet, distracted tone. "And helping your quintessence heal the burn. I can show you how to do this for yourself and your friends if you want me to. It's been a really productive and mindbendy time I've been having here." He pulled away his hand, and a kind of very faintly purple mist seemed to follow it. He dispersed it into the air. "I'd destroy it if I could, or send it back where it came from, but I guess I'll have to settle for huge levels of dilution."

Keith was now very, very weirded out. "...What. Was. _That._ "

Lance shook his hand in the air like he was forcing stiff muscles to relax. " _That_ was a teeny, tiny fragment of the thing that possessed Haggar, her acolytes, Zarkon, and Allura," said Lance. "You're gonna have to bear with the fact I've got kind of a grudge against it. It's what makes a druid a druid. _Not_ happy to find out there are still some around."

"Not many," said Keith. "If any, really. They scattered even more widely than the Blades, but they can't seem to resist trying to build power bases. When Kolivan hears about working cruisers and droids he sends Blades in to check it out. There are converted cruisers, but he's decommissioned all the droid construction plants. It takes the fight out of the weaker warlords when they've got to put their own asses on the line. This one was the first anyone's heard of in phoebs." He tested his arm and found it felt a lot better. Cautiously, he started taking off the bandages to see. The process got Kosmo's interest, which meant big wolf nose poking at him while he tried to get the sling off.

"While you're busy with that, mind if I see your knife for a sec then?" asked Lance. At Keith's _deeply_ affronted look, he added, "I promise I won't try to stab a tree or anything."

Keith - with great reluctance - took out his Blade and passed it over before going back to getting his sling off his arm. Lance studied the knife, waved a hand at the air where he'd dispersed the mist, and soon enough the faint purple haze was back. He thrust the Blade into it and there was a momentary flash of light. Lance nodded and passed it back. "What'd you say these things are made of?"

"Luxite," said Keith. He'd finally gotten the sling off, and was eyeing his apparently now not-injured arm. "...Nice trick."

"Yours was better," said Lance. "Seems like the Blade of Marmora was founded to fight Haggar and her Druids. That's good. I think we're going to need a Blade or three around."

Keith secured his Blade and flexed his arm. Yep, fully healed. "Could use _that_ trick too. You don't seem as spacy as the last time I saw you, either."

"The local mystics are pretty thorough," said Lance. "Which is kinda why I needed to talk to you."

"Go on," said Keith, in a tone that suggested he was waiting for the anvil to drop.

"Oh, knock it off," said Lance. "Look. I need your help. Which means I need to teach you how to do what you'll need to do. I think we can get Allura back. _And_ get that damn mote out of her."

Keith blinked. "I did that test thing they've got in the plaza, Lance. I didn't get the one for 'alchemist'."

"This is all geared for Alteans, Keith," said Lance, as if Keith were being pedantic. "All of it. What _Alteans_ think an alchemist is, or can be." He gestured to his cheeks, where the Altean marks were clearly visible. "Whatever Allura changed in me, she did it along Altean lines. The Trebian systems picked up on that. But you're human and galra, so there's no way they'd pick up anything _you_ can do. But I can, because I've seen you do it. You're not the same kind of whatever-mystic-hoohah-whatsit that I am, and I'm not the same kind _they_ are, but I'm mostly human and you're half human and I think we can work out a translation."

"...Can we start with that last paragraph?" asked Keith mildly. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how you killed that druid that had us all trapped, on our way back to Earth," said Lance. "You knew where he was _going to be_. Before he got there. I'm talking about you not only sensing your bayard but being able to call it to your hand from across a room. You _are_ an alchemist, Keith. You're just not an _Altean_ alchemist."

"Galra don't have alchemists," said Keith bluntly.

" _Someone_ forged that knife you're using," said Lance. " _Someone_ tied that blade to your blood, your will. _Someone_ bound it to your _quintessence_ , so only your blood can make it work, make it shine. I'm betting it wasn't an Altean. But it's definitely alchemy."

Keith opened his mouth to say _it's not the same_ , and then shut it. When he thought about it, he couldn't really articulate how it was different. Just that everyone treated it as if it was. Kosmo nudged him when he was still too long, and he absently reached out to pet the wolf. 

"Someone found a metal that destroys the dark essence," said Lance. "Mined the hell out of it. Made blades out of it. I don't think it's an accident. I think it's what we need to fix things."

Keith sighed, bent down, got a rawhide boomerang out of the bag, shook it in front of Kosmo's nose, and then winged it out into the park for the wolf to bound happily after. He'd taken to using boomerang shapes that caught the breeze. Just throwing sticks or bones meant Kosmo predicted the thing's arc and simply teleported to where it was going to be, and didn't get any exercise at all.

"Okay. Fix _how_ , exactly," he said, while the wolf bounded past very startled Trebians. 

"I want you to practice with me," said Lance. "Maybe come to the studio where I'm learning stuff." He paused. "No. Scratch that. Don't go to the studio, the Trebians would just distract you and say stupid things like you can't possibly do it, which isn't any help. I'll try to show you what I learn. I think you, me, and maybe Shiro and we'll be enough to get a circle going."

"A what now?" asked Keith, lost again. At least for the few seconds it took for Kosmo, in the joy of Play, to bound right into him, knock him over, and drop a slobbery bent rawhide boomerang on his chest. He could hear Lance chuckling now that it wasn't him getting pinned to the ground.

"One of the things the Trebians do that Allura didn't get the chance to do is cooperative work," said Lance. "Where four or five people who maybe _alone_ aren't a tenth as strong as Allura was, get together and do something powerful. It's where Alfor got the whole idea of Voltron, I think. Or where the Lions got it from him. Combine quintessence to do something bigger than any single one of them could do alone. I think if we can get the five of us together we'll be enough to pull Allura back into this world, and you and me can pull that mote out of her and kill it. But it'll take practice."

Keith pried himself out from under his wolf, and threw another boomerang. "If this is so powerful why didn't she do it back then, when we could've helped her?"

"Don't get me started," Lance warned darkly. "That mote has been screwing with her mind from jump, Keith. It's what it _does_. She was already feeling lonely, seeing us all on Earth. Being reminded that she didn't have a planet to go back to or a people. And then the colonists all fell in lockstep with Honerva, and that's worse than having them all be gone, having them all be her enemy, the whole universe's enemy. The mote played on that. Made her think she had to go it alone, fix all her people, fix everything. Played on her pride, too, making her think she had to do it alone. It's what it does." He gave Keith a very hurt look. " _Why_ didn't you stand up to her? You could've ordered her to give it up. To come back."

Keith paused a bit too long before answering, and got whumped hard to the ground by Kosmo. This time he stayed down, just giving the wolf attention for a bit. "You apparently forgot what she was like when she found out I was galra," he replied quietly. "Wouldn't even acknowledge my existence. This was all Altean magic, Lance. Altean magic, Altean people, Altean everything. I was always the one guy in the room that _couldn't_ talk to her about it. I didn't - I _don't_ \- have that right. The galra took everything from her. If I opened my mouth I'd be taking the one thing she had left - her own right to choose her life. I wasn't going to do that no matter how much I didn't like her choices." He wrestled himself back up to a standing position again. "Shiro could argue with her because he wasn't galra, because he'd suffered at the Empire's hands almost as much as she had, in different ways. I never had that ...leverage. If _you_ couldn't stop her, there wasn't anything I could do."

"You didn't have to agree with her," said Lance quietly, pain naked in the tone.

Keith exhaled slowly, scritching Kosmo's ears. The wolf was still, apparently well aware that serious matters were being spoken of. "At the time, she was right," he said. "We didn't have better options. I'd really hoped she'd give it up, let it go, when we knew what we were dealing with." He raised his eyes to meet Lance's. "If I can fix this for you now, I will," he said seriously. "But honestly, I have no idea if what you're suggesting is possible. Or if Shiro can help."

"The way he knew all those things about the Lions," said Lance, "I think he can probably help if he's up to it. But one thing at a time. We need to see if I can show you _anything_ , first."

Keith nodded. He bent down, touching his forehead to Kosmo's, ruffling the wolf's fur. The wolf bounded off, blinking in and out of existence. "Let's get started."

Lance stared. "...What did you just do?"

"Told Kosmo to head for the wild lands and have fun," said Keith. "He'll come if we need him, and when it's time to go to bed." He frowned at Lance's surprise. "You thought Kosmo was my pet? He's a _wolf_ , Lance. We're friends, not master and servant."

"What I think is that everytime I think I know you I get hit by something out of left field," said Lance. "Okay. Let's start simple. Find a bit of untrampled grass, maybe with some flowers on it."

~*~

Pidge was not good at reading people. Predicting, yes. Controlling...actually rather frighteningly so. But not reading. By the time they left the new 'Air Team' Shiro could feel he'd pushed himself too far. But there wasn't any choice but to keep going, was there? This was not the place to show any kind of weakness. This was not the time to fall apart.

What was really starting to frighten him was the growing understanding that it wasn't going to be his choice. That there was a solid limit to how far he could push himself and that trying for more than that was no more use than trying to float in midair. He was just glad that they were in an empty corridor when the trembling started. He kept walking for a few more steps before realizing it was going to reach his legs, too. When he stopped to use the wall as a support was when Pidge turned to ask him what was up. He saw the spark of recognition in her eyes, of alarm. "Stupid!" she hissed, and he had just enough awareness to understand she was hissing at herself, not him. "I'm sorry. I should've paid more attention. We've got to get you out of sight." She looked around - locked, unmarked doors for secret projects in all directions. Private offices. But no company. She stared at the nearest security camera and recited a quick string of numbers. If there was a pattern to them Shiro couldn't place it, but a door about twenty feet away spontaneously unlocked. Pidge all but pulled Shiro down the hall to that door and inside, closing the door after them.

Just a plain office, possibly not even claimed by anyone. But it had a chair, which meant not relying on his unsteady legs. Shiro sat down hard, backing the chair into a corner to put his back against two walls. Tried to breathe. There wasn't any reason for this. There were no threats. There was no danger. And no matter how much he repeated that to himself it didn't seem to change anything. 

Pidge, meanwhile, was brusquely searching the office to see what it held. A bottle of hard liquor in one of the drawers was duly confiscated and pressed into service. "I should've been watching more closely," she admitted. "I'm sorry. I've heard all the things those therapists had to say but I didn't _get_ it before now. Here." A drink was handed over. "I'll stand guard at the door. Nothing's going to bother you, me included, until you're ready." She headed for the door. "Come out when you're ready and _not_ before."

She slipped out, and he heard the door lock as she closed it. Having the small office to himself _did_ help. And while part of him was _ferociously_ embarrassed that the day was Too Much, and that Pidge had _seen_ it, said part was frankly taking a back seat to just...dealing with the frightening sensation of his _mind_ being some kind of broken bone or pulled muscle that just _could not_ take the pressure of a conversation with acquaintances. He had no desire to add 'drunk' to his list of problems for the day, but one glass seemed like probably not a bad idea, in that it might just possibly turn off whatever part of his mind was throwing a fit. So Shiro knocked back Pidge's offering, but did not pour a second. Instead he sat on the bare desk, pulled his feet up after him (he'd have taken the floor but gods only knew when it had last been cleaned) and focused on meditating. Breathe, count the seconds, breathe, count the seconds. It was no different, really, than trying to move through hostile terrain with a broken leg. There were things you just _couldn't_ do when your leg was broken - but you still had to cross the terrain. So you knew it was going to hurt, and you planned for that. You knew your mobility was limited, and you planned for that.

It took a while. But he did get himself at least to the point where he could stand, put his hand on the door, open it. 

Pidge stepped out of another door on the other side of the hall, which told him she'd somehow set up (or more likely hacked) the area's surveillance. She looked solemn. "You still don't look good," she said. "Can you walk?"

Shiro firmly sat on the instinctual desire to snap _of course I can fucking walk_. He could hate himself - later - but Pidge didn't deserve it. He just nodded. She held out her hand, taking his human hand in hers. "Change of plans," she said simply. "I'm sorry. I got impatient. This is on me, but I won't make it worse." She walked, and he walked with her, but he wasn't sure just what plan had changed - corridors having only two directions. But when they walked out of the building he understood. She'd pulled rank - a vehicle was waiting for them, already running. Pidge gestured that he should get in, and while he felt _ashamed_ , he didn't argue with her.

She drove them home, and all she said was, "I've called back home. Matt's got a skimmer. He's going to fly with you back to the clinic."

Shiro blinked. "Don't you think -"

"Of course I think," said Pidge, cutting him off. "I was going to show you, but you'd never forgive yourself if people saw you like this on the way, so I'll just tell you. I've been watching over you, Shiro, from the day you checked into that clinic. I vetted those therapists for Curtis, and for Keith, and I've followed your progress every day so do us both a favor and stop pretending you haven't hit your limit. _I'm_ the one that called Keith in when Curtis filed divorce papers. And I'm not going to tell him that I let you break yourself, at the Garrison no less, because I wanted to show off my latest project. You don't get it because you've only had to deal with yourself, Shiro. Your own hurts, your own scars. While I've watched over you I've seen the same things in my house. I've seen what happens when someone pushes too hard because they _think_ they should be okay by now. We'll have this day again, Shiro, I promise. I'll have more of the new Voltron finished, maybe even have crew picked out. But right now the main thing is you need to get back to the safe zone. So we're going to get you back there."

Her speech should have infuriated Shiro. It was _exactly_ the kind of overprotective behavior he'd always hated most. What he'd gotten so angry at Adam about. What told him more clearly than anything else that she was right, though, was that he couldn't find the energy to argue with her. Couldn't even snarl at her about invading his privacy. He was just _relieved_. Relieved that he didn't _have_ to, as it were, cross that terrain on a broken leg. That there was a helping hand, and a waiting car.

And a waiting skimmer. When Pidge pulled up to the house, Shiro's skimmer waited by another. Matt was on it, and by the look of things Shiro's gear was already stowed. 

"We'll do this day over again sometime, Shiro," said Pidge, encouragingly. "Go on. We _understand_. Paladins forever. Now move."

"I'm sorry," was all Shiro could make himself say. Everything else was just a jumbled mess and if he tried sorting it out he'd never be in shape to fly. In strict honesty he was relieved that Matt would be flying with him - it was a long trip, and even if he _did_ get some of his strength back on it, he couldn't swear to it. He couldn't _know_. So he got out of the car, made his way back onto the skimmer - filing away the mix of feelings - and put on the helmet and goggles. Looked over to Matt, who nodded _ready_.

And started the long flight back to what everything was insisting was 'home', the rooms at the clinic.

~*~

Keith had on several occasions considered that it might be a good idea to try and hone his sixth sense.

Keith had _also_ , on probably at least as many occasions, considered knocking in Lance's teeth with his fist.

Up to now he'd never actually considered that the two desires might wind up interrelated, but he was prepared to be flexible.

"I can't change a flower's color, Lance," he said with teeth-gritted patience. "What's wrong with the color it has?"

"That's why you can't change it," said Lance. "You have to want it to be something else."

_Patience yields focus. Patience yields focus._ "Lance, if my life could change in any way just by me _wanting_ it to, I would have an entirely different life." There was not enough patience in the _universe_ for this bullshit.

Lance got up, brushing off his arms in a way that suggested he, too, was thinking about a fistfight. "You're not taking _any_ of this seriously."

"You're the one with the gardens, Lance," said Keith shortly. "What the hell made you think I have some secret yen to be a _florist_?"

_He's a galra,_ sighed Allura, who had - fairly politely - watched the past few hours in silence to let Lance concentrate. _What did you honestly expect, Lance?_

It wasn't something he would normally do, but several hours of trying to get Keith to focus properly had kicked Lance's stores of zen pretty hard. He snapped, out loud, "And you wouldn't be saying that if he could hear you."

_It's not his fault he's galra,_ said Allura. _We can't help how we're made. There have never been_ any _galra alchemists, Lance, and our peoples had a few thousand years to test that._

At the same time, Keith scowled. "So Allura's been watching?" he said shortly. "Great. That's just...great." He got up too, but not to stretch. He started gathering the half-chewed rawhide boomerangs from earlier. 

Lance, caught between the two of them, very nearly lost his grip on his temper entirely. And then, as his mind sometimes did, his thoughts skittered sideways. He held out a hand. "No. Keith. Stay."

"Why?" Keith demanded. "I can't change the color of a flower, or make it bend, or any of the other 'beginner exercises' you've tried. I don't _feel_ the fucking _flowers_ , okay?"

Allura facepalmed and Lance said to her, "You _stop_ that. I mean it. You sound just like the instructors did before I _showed_ them I can do things." To Keith, he said, "Alteans know a lot. But they don't know as much as they think they do sometimes. You know what I got, my first day learning? 'Humans can't manipulate quintessence'. They'd apparently tried to teach us during some of their visits, and it didn't work, and humans started calling it 'elf magic' and so on and they just gave up. So when I walked in and wanted them to teach me they wouldn't. Until I showed them that I _can_ do some things. _Then_ they started teaching me things. But they still think it's because of this." He gestured to the marks on his face. "And you know, in my case they might be right. But I have _seen_ you do shit, Keith. I know you can do it, and you know you can do it. So if you're not getting it then it's on me, and I'm sorry about that, but I need you to not give up, okay?"

Far from pacifying, this attempt at a placating speech managed to offend both Keith and Allura, and Lance got it in stereo.

_I have always had faith in you, Lance, but Keith isn't_ like _either of us,_ said Allura.

"I didn't say I was giving up," said Keith. "I said I'm not a damned florist."

"And right now," snapped Lance at both of them, "I would give anything for you two to just bitch at _each other_ and leave me out of it." He paused. "Actually..."

Keith frowned. "Actually what?"

"You can sense druids," said Lance. "Like...even when you can't see them. Maybe...maybe that's something we can work with."

_I am_ not _a druid, Lance,_ said Allura, offended. _I don't exactly know what I am, but I'm definitely not a druid._

Keith was listening though. "You think I should try to sense Allura," he guessed. "She's still here?"

"You better believe it," sighed Lance. "I mean I love her but this is not our best day. Do what you did to sense the druid. See if you can see Allura. I'm telling you she's here, so. Trust yourself and go with it."

Keith blew out a breath and closed his eyes. He _did_ know how to sense druids when he had to. His eyes wouldn't help. Patience, focus. He needed the focus.

Lance took advantage of the quiet to tell Allura, silently this time, "You just stay put. No sense in making this harder."

But Allura did move, walking around the pair of them. _No, because you look at me when you talk to me. So he could just focus on that._

"You really don't think he can do it, do you," mused Lance. "His eyes are closed, anyway. He can't see where I'm looking."

_Lotor was half Altean and had studied alchemy for centuries, possibly millennia,_ said Allura. _And his mother is a psychopath, but undeniably a gifted alchemist. I don't know where Keith's abilities come from, but I don't think it's alchemical._

Lance did his best not to sigh too loudly. He really needed help with this and Keith was his best shot and this _needed_ to work. "I ...get why you're so down on the galra, Allura. I get it. I do. Or at least I do my best to. But Keith didn't have anything to do with what happened to your people so maybe, just possibly, you can focus on the fact that he's never been anything but your friend and quit making this harder than it has to be?"

_Possibly I haven't made it hard enough,_ mused Allura. _Lance, look._

She was still walking around them in a circle. And - eyes closed - Keith was pointing a finger right at her, following her as she moved. "Something's there."

Lance's body flooded with relief, and he grinned widely. "And the galra scores a point. That's Allura you're sensing, Keith. I think she owes you an apology."


	34. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The doctors change course (a bit). A little more of Lance's situation.

Shiro was ushered with courteous speed to his rooms on arrival, by the clinic's night staff. Given the late hour, Matt was offered a room for the night, which he accepted. While the room was comfortable, and the shower hot, and the breakfast tasty, this was by no means a 'free' offer, as he found out. Dr. Schlessinger cornered him for as full a debriefing as he could give before he was free to fly off back home.

Once the doctor had finished grilling him, the doctors met to discuss matters.

"We knew it was likely to happen at least once," Dr. Pender began. "He has always been a man to push himself, and these are limits he can neither see nor sense without practice."

"The Holts are very, very, very sorry," drawled Schlessinger, his tone making it sound as if he'd sat through an entire Arusian Dance of Apology. "They still want to spend time with him, but swear they will understand if we're reluctant."

Merisan gave Schlessinger a dour look. "Of course they will. They are his friends," he said. "And this is an expected setback. He cannot know what overextension feels like until he overextends. And now he knows."

"Apparently he spent a day dealing with acquaintances, in an environment he knew to be professional, impersonal." said Dr. Brice. "So yes, this is expected. Acquaintances are somewhat more difficult than friends, or strangers. So, what is the plan?" She looked toward Merisan, expecting him to have one.

He didn't disappoint. "Let him have a few days to himself," said Merisan. "In the quiet and the safety. Then I will see if we can assess how _far_ he has overextended."

"Do you think it serious?" asked Dr. Pender. 

Merisan spread his hands. "I cannot begin to guess," he said. "We have been working on his pride, and how it can limit him or cause him greater pain than strictly necessary. But in the moment itself? I cannot begin to guess how he chose. Maintain the monitoring, and let us wait until he seems able to receive guests."

~*~

At first, Keith came down to the planet with Kosmo, and spent the day with Lance in parks or restaurants, and the generals rested on the Janus. But as the other three healed of their own injuries, they started taking an interest in what Lance and Keith were doing.

This resulted, fairly quickly, in a four way argument that only remained polite because Keith insisted that it remain so.

The first point of contention was the idea that galra alchemists, if such existed, were 'druids'. This argument pitted Lance and Acxa against Ezor and Zethrid, and resulted in the entire group being firmly disinvited from a malt shop. After several more hours of arguing outside while Keith calmly played fetch with Kosmo and stayed the hell out of it, it was decided that 'alchemist' was a strictly Altean term for Altean sensitives, 'sensitive' could apply to _any_ race, and 'druid' was a group Haggar had created by tainting sensitives with dark energy.

Therefore, it was further decided, Lance was a sensitive who could claim 'alchemist' if he wanted to, since that seemed to be the training that worked for him, but Keith was _not_ an alchemist since he had neither interest in nor aptitude for a lot of what Lance could do, but had nevertheless provable quintessence sensitivity that he used in ways Lance found difficult to impossible. And Allura was both correct in saying there was no such thing as a galran alchemist, and wholly incorrect in thinking this meant galra in specific, or non-Alteans in general, could not be sensitive to quintessence.

Lance, as the putative teacher, was right in the middle of _all_ of the arguments - a position he found both unfamiliar and kind of threatening, until he realized that Keith's part-galra crew weren't actually trying to demean him or his ideas - it was just that galra tended to learn through combat, be it verbal or physical, and this was their way of testing Lance's mettle. Once they accepted that he knew what he was talking about enough to be a valid teacher, Lance found himself explaining not just to Keith but to the whole group.

"But I don't get why you want to," said Lance. "I'm having a hard enough time showing Keith anything, and we _know_ he's a sensitive."

"Druids are really secretive," said Ezor, grinning flirtatiously at him. "They'd never reveal anything about themselves. If we listen and learn maybe we'll have an edge if another one pops up."

And that was another thing. Ezor loved to flirt with Lance. Not because she wanted him - she was pretty clear with Keith about that, at least in private. Zethrid wouldn't get jealous so much as definitively homicidal if Ezor flirted seriously with anyone. She loved to flirt with Lance because Lance had, quite simply, never gotten the hang of dealing with confident, dominant women. And Ezor loved seeing all the different shades Lance's face would turn, while he firmly pretended nothing at all was going on and everything was normal.

Now that he had a starting point, Lance opted to skip the 'traditional alchemy' lessons and go right for 'seeing if what they knew Keith could already do could be expanded on or better controlled'. When Allura was willing, Lance asked her to walk around and talk, so that Keith could practice sensing when she was around, where she was, and listening for her voice. She was willing enough to do this, but she didn't like having 'Lotor's generals' around and didn't try to hide that she didn't much trust them. Her view of this was they couldn't see or hear her, and so wouldn't be hurt by this. Lance bit his tongue, and mostly hoped that if Keith suddenly found he _could_ hear Allura, he wouldn't then be greeted by a grumblefest about galra. Keith, for his part, was as good as his word - he didn't talk much, letting his three crewmates chatter without him, but he did his best to try and listen for Allura.

Kosmo, somewhat to Lance's bemusement, would sometimes stay and watch the arguments like a spectator at a tennis match. Sometimes he'd play catch with Keith. And sometimes he'd bound off to the city outskirts to amuse himself. All three generals treated Kosmo much as they'd once treated Narti; a silent but intelligent and aware crewmate with his own skillset and needs. Not that Lance knew anything about Narti, but he could certainly see the difference in how the Janus crew treated Kosmo.

Keith couldn't learn a lot of what Lance was learning, it seemed. He could sense quintessence, but there needed to be a lot of it, or some kind of emotional attachment, or something unusual about it for him to pick it up. Plants were basically Right Out. He could sense Allura readily enough if he was actively trying to find her, but sensing her arrival or departure was proving difficult for him, as was hearing her voice or actually seeing her. He wasn't sure this was going to be possible at all, since as he blandly pointed out, "If I could do that, don't you think I'd have figured out where Shiro really _was_?" - but he was willing to keep trying, on the basis that maybe he just hadn't honed that sense enough at the time.

Every other day Lance went back to the classes where he was still being taught by Fion and the other Trebians, and during those times Keith caught up on the news from the console and tried to practice sensing Allura, but without Lance to tell him if he was getting it right, he lost his taste for it.

One thing was certain - none of the generals had any degree of sensitivity. "That was always Narti's thing," Ezor remarked, which sparked an afternoon of stories about Narti and Kova and how each of them had reacted to Lotor killing her. Keith listened attentively, but Lotor's motives were hard enough to decipher when he'd been standing right in front of Keith. Trying to figure it out secondhand from three generals who were just as baffled was kind of pointless. This did not mean they had no interest in the proceedings, though. Ezor enjoyed watching Lance demonstrate some new technique (even if he was demonstrating it on flowers) while Acxa and Zethrid took a kind of proprietary pride in watching Keith demonstrate his abilities.

Then Ezor mused, "Hey boss. I think I know how you can practice this sensing-people thing without Lance around. See if you can find _me_." And she vanished from view.

Keith sighed and pointed at her bootprints on the grass. "Not exactly helpful, but thanks."

Ezor faded back into view. "So we practice on the Janus," she said. "Nice solid metal floors, no footprints."

"And if this works you can torment Lance into seeing if _he_ can sense you," observed Acxa.

Keith blinked. "Okay, that sounds interesting," he agreed. "Okay. When he's with his teachers we can do that."

"Just remember to tell Kosmo he can't play this game with you," said Ezor. "His nose is way too good."

~*~

It took a few days before the doctors could tell, by observing the screens, that Shiro had gotten back his basic equilibrium. It took a few more before the sound of Merisan's knock at the door didn't cause a visble startle/panic reaction. The doctors respected this, of course, and waited for Shiro to be able and willing to give Merisan the go-ahead to enter.

Merisan didn't begin conversation right away, either. When given permission to enter he did so, closed the door behind him, and took his usual seat, several feet away from where Shiro sat by the windows. And waited there silently, with the patience of a brick, for Shiro to speak.

"When...when did this place become home?" asked Shiro, eventually.

"There are many definitions of 'home', Mr. Shirogane," replied Merisan, keeping his tone soft. "One of them is 'a place where you feel safe and known'. We are honored that we have succeeded in creating such a space for you here."

"But it can't _stay_ that way," said Shiro slowly. 

"All things change, Mr. Shirogane," said Merisan. "You have had homes before this one, you will have homes after it. When you are ready we will assist you in creating a home for yourself, away from here."

"But not yet," said Shiro.

"No, Mr. Shirogane," Merisan agreed. "Not yet."

Shiro didn't look at Merisan, or out of the window. He was studying the floor. "...I fell apart," he admitted quietly. "I'm guessing you knew that."

Dr. Merisan studied his notes. "Mr. Shirogane...we often compare recovering from these types of trauma to the recovery from a long illness, or a serious injury. We've discussed the similarity to convalescence, and the need to, as it were, re-strengthen muscles that have lost their power. And these comparisons are useful, and valid, but they omit the one area where psychological trauma truly differs from physical trauma. And that is that it is _invisible_. If you were to break your leg, a doctor would set the bone and put it in a cast. And everyone would see your leg in the cast. You would have tools, such as wheelchairs and canes and crutches, to help you get around while your leg healed, and everyone would see you using these tools. No one but a fool would try demanding that, say, you take the stairs and not an elevator or a ramp. No one but a fool would demand you go jogging on that leg, even if you were an avid jogger before the injury." He looked Shiro in the face. "But mental trauma...no one can see it. Not even you. No one can _see_ how deeply the wounds go, not even you. No one can _see_ how quickly they are healing, or how slowly. Not even you. And, it is important to know, not even _us_. When it comes to mental trauma, we are two men in the dark, Mr. Shirogane. We know that you are wounded. We know that you are in pain, that you are weakened. And my colleagues and I, well. We have some training in feeling in the dark for those injuries, guided by what you can tell us of where the pain is. We have some training in applying the stitches and bandages, in the dark, by feel. But you heal in the dark too, Mr. Shirogane. We cannot look at you and say 'ah, the stitches are ready to come out', or 'that wound is still bleeding'. We can only test. Place our hand on the bandage, as it were, to see if it is still damp with bleeding. Feel around the edges of a stitched wound for scabs or scar tissue. And ask you to put pressure on the injury to see if it has healed, or if it has not."

Shiro's lip quirked, though the faint attempt at a smile was sad. "And no one else even knows the room is dark, is that it?"

Dr. Merisan nodded slowly. "Even so. The Green Paladin did what she could to watch for signs, she said. We knew you would hit the wall, Mr. Shirogane. In a dark room, hitting the wall is the only way to know where the wall _is_. And now you know."

"You're...oddly very reassuring today, doctor," said Shiro quietly, leaning back in his chair. "But I still feel like an idiot. It's not like I've never spoken to the MFE pilots - I guess, Air Team pilots now - before. It's not like we didn't get along."

"Broken leg, Mr. Shirogane," said Dr. Merisan. "No jogging. Even if you loved jogging before. You must teach yourself to treat the world as if it were made anew, because for you it is."

"And these rooms are the comforting shell of a hermit crab," sighed Shiro. "I was afraid, every time you knocked. Even though I knew it was you, that it would just be words..."

"You tested some stitches that weren't quite up to the challenge, Mr. Shirogane," said Merisan. "You felt pain. You've stepped backward a bit. But we have applied new stitches, and you will move forward again soon. Even if right now, all you can feel is the return of pain."

"...You know, I don't think I ever asked," said Shiro. "Who am I going to be, when we're done here? I'm definitely not the same man who came here."

"This is a clinic," said Dr. Merisan, a touch sternly. "Not an internment camp or brainwashing center. Who you are when you leave will be entirely up to you." He paused. "But. If it helps you...then consider that it is unlikely you will even realize when your last day here will be. This process you have begun, it will continue. You will be here a while, resting and mending. And then you will go and see your friends. And come back, and talk about it, and go and see more of your friends. Come back, talk about it. Somewhere in there, you will go back to your house, and make it into your home again. Come back, talk about it. You will discover what you want to do, and you will start doing it. Maybe come back, talk about it. And one day you will realize that you would rather talk to your friends about your life than come back here. That you don't need to come back here any more. But that will be quite some time after what will turn out to be your last visit."

Shiro smiled wistfully. "That's not a bad future. Even if it does sound like the past."

"We aren't changing who you are, as a person," said Merisan. "We are simply doing our best to get you back to a point where living is no longer equivalent to suffering. In your case...perhaps that was quite long ago. But it was there. What, if I may ask, came to mind?"

"Test pilot days," said Shiro. "New graduate of the Garrison. Breaking records. Talking with Adam. The world's changed a hell of a lot, since those days."

Merisan nodded. "Shall we discuss your visit to the Garrison, then?"

Shiro didn't answer right away. He sat in silent thought, going over the whole visit in his mind. "...When Allura pulled me out of the Black Lion," he said slowly, "she said she pulled _all_ of my quintessence out. And that this was why I couldn't feel Black, anymore. She'd ...sort of pulled up the anchor behind me, the tether that united us. And I believed her. I thought...losing Black forever was the price of being alive. I couldn't tell you if it was worth it. Keith never wanted to fly Black, but he did, because now there wasn't anyone else. And...I think he knew I couldn't help resenting him for that. He had my dream job and he didn't even want it. I just about shoved him into it - here, you want to do my job, let's see you try it. Backed off from the other paladins, which was even easier when I got the Atlas. To Earth he's the one and only Black Paladin. But...when we met, that first year after on Altea, when the Lions left us...I felt Black say good bye. Black hadn't forgotten me. Maybe never will. Allura was wrong - the connection wasn't permanently broken. I could've worked to get it back instead of grieving that it was gone. And ...I won't lie, part of me wishes that's what I'd done. But not because it would've ended any better. Just...because I miss flying Black."

Merisan listened, making little notes on his tablet. "Did something happen at the Garrison, to remind you?"

"Kind of," Shiro conceded. "Pidge told me she thought Black refusing to take me back, Black keeping Keith as a paladin, was proof that having the lions choose their pilots was flawed. They're making a new Voltron, sort of. One fully under the control of its pilots. Because the Garrison didn't like that it _had_ to work through the Lions' chosen Paladins, who as far as the Garrison were concerned were an AWOL officer and some delinquent cadets."

"And what do you think?" asked Merisan. "Is she correct?"

"...Honestly, I don't think so," said Shiro quietly. "Though I truly miss my time as a Paladin, and being Black's pilot in particular - that's _me_ , personally. That's not what would've been best for the team, or the world. Or the universe, for that matter. What the paladins wanted was...their big brother back, I think. But I had...my head to sort out. And Keith's smart, and he can lead, but he's no one's big brother."

"The lions are gone now," noted Merisan. "Can there not be six paladins, now?"

"There's still only five, now that Allura's gone," said Shiro. "I suppose if the lions came back it'd be interesting to see what Black would choose to do. But I can't say I wouldn't be hurt, if it chose Keith over me again."

"Do the lions not take the pilot's preferences into account?" asked Merisan.

"Keith was very clear that they don't," said Shiro. "He never wanted Black to choose him. Begged it not to. Pidge and Lance were both chomping at the bit for the privilege, but Black chose Keith anyway."

"Hn," mused Merisan. "And you do not think this new method is better, even so?"

"The lions have their reasons," said Shiro. "I think...Black realized Keith needed to look out for his people. He's always been off to one side, really. As a default state. Invite him to a party and he wouldn't even make it as far as the kitchen - he'd be one of the ones out in the yard or up on the roof, listening to everyone else dance and have a good time but never part of it. He kind of needs people to come to him. As Black's pilot, they'd have reason to want to. And Keith remembers when people do that. He looks out for them, once they make themselves his."

Merisan considered this. "So you believe that the lions considered their available talent pool, as it were, and chose not simply based on the individual, but on the results possible with the final configuration. And yet you worry, that if you were part of that pool you would not have your previous place?"

"I honestly don't know anymore," said Shiro. "The Lions aren't bound by time, or space. You're sort of stuck trusting them. I do, personally. But I can understand why the Garrison wouldn't."

"Why do you think the Green Paladin agrees with the Garrison, then?" asked Merisan.

"Because she was maybe fifteen while the war was going on," said Shiro dryly. "And the sum total of her understanding of Keith is how he fights. That's all most people know about him, really. She probably needed a big brother more than anyone else - so it probably hit her harder, when Keith took over, because he's not. And he doesn't often communicate well. She could tell him a thing, and he could analyze it and do his own thing with it without her ever realizing he'd even heard her - which would make her resentful and mistrustful. She's brilliant, and can be kind, but she doesn't take well to being ignored by someone she thinks needs to be her ally. That doesn't make me a better man for the job than Keith - just a better communicator."

"Sometimes, being a better communicator does, in fact, mean you are a better leader," noted Merisan. 

"I think I'd call the middle of a war a gray area on that point," said Shiro. "And Keith does know his way around a fight."

Merisan considered this. "So you feel her response was unfair to him, then?"

Shiro blinked. "I...guess I do. I mean, I've had to think about it, but...he did just fine, in the end. I think...I think when people die the survivors need something, someone to blame. We lost Allura. Keith would be the logical target. But I was there too. I didn't like the calls any better than I remember him doing, but I still can't think of _better_ ones. I was dealing with a lot, at the time. Maybe too much. I could've taken a few minutes to explain...I just _didn't_."

Merisan nodded. "The lack of self-recrimination in your tone is reassuring," he said. "As yes, from our work it would appear you _were_ dealing with somewhat too many plates in the air. Much as we may wish to, we cannot do everything, and certainly cannot do everything at the same time."

"Yeah," said Shiro, a bit heavily. "Yeah. I know. And I thought about talking it over with Pidge and ...then I couldn't cope with saying anything, steering the conversation to that."

"It is work," Merisan agreed. "And the Green Paladin is likely one who treats argument as a sport. You have not had to deal with many external conflicts of late. But you will get there."

"Like I'll 'get to' flying interstellar?" asked Shiro, just a little bitter. "The problem with hitting the wall is I'm surrounded by walls."

"Yes," said Merisan dryly. "They are safe. And they are confining. That is the nature of walls. However, the Yellow Paladin made us a suggestion some while ago, and while you were away we thought it a good idea to see to it. While you are practicing going Out again, allow me to present you this key." He fished in his pocket, and took it out. It was an internal key to the clinic - the design was the same - but Shiro had never really seen the other rooms, and so didn't recognize any significance to the number stamped on it.

He took the key anyway, looking it over. "What's it for?"

"An exercise room," said Dr. Merisan. "Treadmill, cycle, a set of weights, a radio, a media screen. A few other machines. The Yellow Paladin felt that your physical condition was affecting your mental one, and we agree that it is a factor. We have simply waited for the right time to present it as an option, and that would seem to be now."

Shiro turned the key in his fingers, smiling just a little. Yes, that did sound like Hunk's kind of reasoning. Not that he was wrong.

"I am requested to advise you that we will _not_ be having any discussions in the weight room," said Merisan. "So perhaps it will prove a safe space of a different kind."

~*~

Lance almost missed the vivid dreams that had tended to happen when he practiced a lot. Almost. Lately he was just glad to have the sleep.

It might have been okay, if it were _just_ trying to teach Keith. He was starting to get the hang of the flavors of Keith's anger; there was 'you've said this ten times, I've heard you ten times, shut up and let me practice' irritation. There was 'it doesn't matter how many times you repeat it, it doesn't make any more sense' irritation. And there was 'I have had to human too much today, go the fuck away' irritation. There were probably more kinds of irritation - Keith seemed to have an endless supply - but Lance was at least getting better at identifying the ones that meant he should just leave Keith to it.

But it wasn't _just_ trying to teach Keith.

It was Ezor's ongoing campaign to embarrass him. It was Acxa watching him like he was some _really interesting_ new species of butterfly (he was positive she was taking notes, and he wasn't sure why she would). It was Kosmo occasionally interrupting a lesson by tackling him, and that wolf was the size of a bear and he was very lucky to still have all his ribs. It was also his own attempts to learn from Fion and the other mystics, some of whom seemed to think Lance was a neat new kind of dancing monkey. 

And it was also Allura.

He was glad the mystics had shown him how to ward his mind, because in the privacy of his own thoughts, behind those wards, he was really getting worried about her. And it hadn't helped at all when she could see that worry, because she just got irritated at him about it.

She was getting irritated about a lot more things, lately. And maybe it was because she was some kind of ethereal goddess-being now, but Lance, for his money, would bet it was a different source. She'd never let go of the dark mote. And maybe he couldn't get her to stop being a goddess - it was entirely possible she _did_ need to stay one. She had access to a lot more information than he did. But he really, really doubted she needed that mote to be a goddess, and it certainly wasn't making her a good one. 

He wanted _his_ Allura back. The one who'd recognized that no species was painted with one big brush, because she'd had to learn it the hard way. That galra could be friends and alteans could be enemies without it being necessarily because of someone making them that way. The one who'd taken joy in bringing life where there was desolation, healing whole worlds and city parks and powering replacement limbs.

Lance wasn't prepared to think that maybe that Allura was gone forever. She was just...it was just like Keith had been before finding his mom, that was all. She just needed to see that she wasn't alone, that people had her back and wanted to help and she didn't need to go getting tangled with forces of darkness to be effective. But he wasn't blind to the hold the mote seemed to have on her. That was why he needed Keith. And Shiro, probably. He needed to make this...bigger. Paint the confrontation in bigger letters, so she couldn't dismiss it as just Lance being a worrywart or whatever it was she'd decided to think of his concerns as.

One thing was certain. That Keith clearly could sense quintessence _bothered_ her. When Lance could get her to join in the lessons - standing nearby, moving around, to see how near or far Keith could sense or track her - she'd speculate about just where this sense came from. She was Firm that _no_ galra could do what he was doing. So it had to be from his human side, except that the Trebians were pretty clear that humans couldn't do this kind of thing either. Allura still had a much easier time with the idea that Keith's potential came from his human father, and not his galra mother.

Lance had not mentioned what the generals had had to say about Keith sometimes looking rather more galra than he normally did. Lance wasn't mentioning it, because that would be shapeshifting. And Allura had Views about who could shapeshift that were very similar to her Views about who could be an alchemist, and since Lance figured getting Keith to take a DNA test was about on par with getting Keith to sing opera, it wasn't a topic he was prepared to bring up. Besides. Right now, Keith was throwing a large wrench into Allura's worldview, and since Lance didn't much like her worldview right now anyway, the more wrenches the merrier. 

(There was also, and it would not be pried out of him with red hot pliers, a small and perpetually insecure part of Lance that knew Allura took a keen Interest in Alteans. That a fair chunk of her attraction to Lotor had been his half-Altean blood. The idea that Keith might be something like five percent Altean would...would put the entire conversation on rails Lance would rather not even see much less travel on. And yes, he wasn't an insecure little teenager anymore and Allura had pretty much solved the whole 'not a lot of Alteans anymore' problem on her own, but it would still be Different if it were Keith and it didn't really matter that Keith's attention was firmly pointed Shiro-ward. It was _Allura's_ attention and reactions he worried about.)

It was a hot tangled mess and Lance was not loving that at all.

~*~

The doctors convened.

"Seems to be bouncing back all right," offered Schlessinger. "He found the weight room."

Merisan mmm'd, looking through his notes. "That was never the problem. But so far, his use appears to be reasonable. There is self-care involved."

Dr. Pender stared. "Was that a concern?"

Merisan nodded. "Of course it was. This man was raised from an early age to treat physical training as if it were a compensation exercise. Exercise, live longer. Can't sleep? Exercise. Insecure, worried? Exercise. His demons resulted in a great deal of exercise and not a lot of sleep."

Dr. Brice studied the reports. "...No demons," she surmised. "Or perhaps just a recognition of physical weakness."

"Quite likely the latter," said Merisan. "He _has_ physically weakened, living the sedentary lifestyle he has, but if he spends more than four hours a day in there it is something that should be examined closely."

"Agreed," said Dr. Pender. "What are your findings otherwise?"

Dr. Merisan sighed. He didn't really want to say it, but. "I believe we will need to reorder the paladins he speaks to. The Garrison is clearly the greatest challenge to his equilibrium at present, with the fewest socially acceptable methods of retreat. The Green Paladin must be last on the list."

"That leaves Red and Blue," said Brice. She was willing to give them their preferred colors. "You're considering that Keith should be next?"

"As news suggests that the two paladins are currently working together," sighed Merisan, "I was thinking both of them. Provided we can drag them back to Earth. But the Blue Paladin said he cannot be taken from his current work."

"So...Keith, then," said Schlessinger. "On...Earth. He does not _work_ on Earth. Didn't you stipulate that this was a visit to their home environments?"

Merisan shook his head. "It seems that our communications with the paladins have set something in motion," he said. "They are not static. Keith will meet with him in Lance's territory, and - provided he seems willing - take him to Trebi to meet with Lance."

"That is definitely a shift," Brice agreed. 

"Keith was ...less than pleased... that Mr. Shirogane had to be escorted back here by one of the Holts," said Dr. Pender slowly. The understatement was particularly audible. "He wants it clear that if such a situation arises again he will escort Mr. Shirogane himself, or at the very least be notified immediately."

Dr. Brice just winced. "His trust in us has taken a hit," she surmised. "We did not plan for how to extract Mr. Shirogane if and when he hit the wall."

Merisan nodded to Brice. "That's it, yes. He believes that since we expected such an overextension we should have had a plan in place."

Dr. Pender, who had taken that call, eyed Merisan. "Is there a reason we didn't?"

"Of course," said Merisan. "If Mr. Shirogane keeps being _caught_ he won't assimilate the knowledge of his limits. He will simply keep pushing, likely doing himself harm in the process."

Dr. Pender gave Merisan a bland look. "I will let _you_ tell Keith that reasoning," he said. "Coming from me ...no, that would not work. I believe Keith requires the reassurance that we would not let Mr. Shirogane do himself any kind of serious harm."

Dr. Merisan gave a little gesture of surrender. "There is little point," he said. "Mr. Shirogane is at the stage where he is able to go out and test his limits. A minder seems to be helpful. Given that Mr. Shirogane _deeply resents_ people being protective of him, I have no doubt that if Keith attempts to shelter him he will be reprimanded in clear and unambiguous terms. It is... _time_ , gentlemen. We will now see what these two, together, are capable of."

"Balancing each other out, or blowing each other up," grumped Schlessinger. "We're supposed to try to _avoid_ that second option, Merisan. I'm sure there's something about it in that medical oath we took."

"Yes, thank you, I do recall," said Merisan shortly. "But the blunt fact of the matter is, Keith has not overstepped his bounds. We cannot, based on our own experience with him, state that he is a danger to Mr. Shirogane. We cannot protect him _pre-emptively_. Therefore...the only option remaining is to let them re-associate and see where it goes."

~*~

Keith was reliving the conflict that had been a constant of his life pretty much since Shiro had entered it; in short form, it was _patience yields focus_ versus _fuck this shit_.

Patience counseled letting the doctors do their thing. They were doctors, they were _really good_ doctors according to everything Pidge could dig up (and he _did_ have faith in Pidge's ability to find things out), and they hadn't felt Shiro having to rush halfway across the country back to his room because he was having a breakdown on a hangar floor to be a Big Deal. It was going to happen, they seemed to feel, and the important thing was Shiro hadn't been knocked all the way back to square zero by it.

Fuck-this-shit counseled possibly firebombing the clinic (getting Shiro out of it first) and possibly hiding Shiro in Lance's gardens or something and letting people visit him provided they promised not to be jerks about it, and enforcing this by beheading transgressors and using their bodies to fertilize the flowers with.

Patience was winning, but not by a whole lot. It wasn't, honestly, his faith in the doctors - any doctors - that drove the decision so much as a fundamental acceptance that frankly, he didn't think enough like Ye Average Human to know what was best for one. Shiro was _his_ guide to Humaning. It didn't work the other way around. And the years away from the other paladins in general and Shiro in specific had made him painfully aware that his Human was pretty damned rusty. He _missed_ it, but missing it didn't magically make the required mental translations magically reappear in his mind. It didn't actually help that he was half human. That wasn't how humanity _worked_. Humans learned to be human from other humans. From ...having friends, and family, and shared social milestones. Keith had grown up without any of it, on the fringes. Shiro was the only guide he had. The only one that had recognized Keith genuinely didn't know and couldn't guess what was 'supposed' to happen.

And that was the deciding factor, in the end. If there were any sign Shiro didn't want to keep doing the therapy, Pidge would know about it. And Shiro could contact him and tell him so. And then it would be easy to know that it was time to take another path. But Shiro had gone back. Gave no sign that this wasn't the way to do things. And that meant, frayed as it was, Keith kept his fingers dug in to the Patience side of things, and waited. He _had_ to trust Shiro knew what was best for himself. What he needed to get better. Nothing at all worked if he tried any other way.


	35. 35 Chapters And A Wingman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A last minute bit of redecoration, a minor revelation, and Shiro and Keith manage to be in the same place at the same time.
> 
> To explain Keith's behavior you might have to go back to like, chapter 22/23. Or wait for the next chapter. Either way I'm going to beg in advance that no one murder me.

The trouble with learning how to manipulate quintessence from Lance was, the two of them didn't do much of any of the same things with it.

Lance could directly manipulate the quintessence of living things. He could change the color of a flower's petals, make it grow quickly, or (not that he _liked_ doing it, but he knew how to) pull the quintessence out of it into himself, causing it to wither. He could, if he spent time on it, create a kind of emotional ward around a place, so that people with certain kinds of intent just didn't want to cross the ward. And he could infuse a place with quintessence, such that just being there made those present feel more alive, more at peace. He could, with practice, heal small wounds (and he was weirdly flattered that Ezor and Zethrid were both curious enough about this to spar fiercely enough to have small cuts for him to work with) but had no luck with longstanding wounds such as their respective eye losses or Ezor's damaged head tentacle. And Keith could do...pretty much none of that.

_Keith_ could sense ...well, the group was starting to differentiate by saying _souls_. Not everything that lived had a soul, a self-awareness. If it didn't have self-awareness, it wasn't complex enough for its quintessence to form a soul, and Keith didn't sense it no matter how much he tried. Cows were right out. Most pets too. Plants were entirely out of the question. But a _soul_ he could sense - and not only was he getting better at doing so automatically, he was learning to differentiate between them. This started pretty simply - trying to tell if the unseen person near him was Allura, or a camoflaged Ezor. But, slowly, he was starting to sense the difference between Zethrid and Lance, or Lance and Kosmo. (Keith was pretty much the only one not at all surprised that Kosmo also had a soul.) And while he didn't seem able to manipulate souls - which he found a relief because that was a particularly creepy idea - he _could_ also sense potential _tools_...although doing so was right at the edge of his ability.

Tools let him interact with the souls he could sense. The luxite blade would affect Allura, at least as long as she was bound to the mote. Keith could ...sort of set the blade to flash when Allura neared - presumably it would flash in the presence of a druid now, too. He'd seen in his mother's memories that the blade could be made to flash when certain types of souls neared; she'd set hers for 'galra' at the time. The luxite blade reacted most strongly to dark energy, but Keith had a suspicion its capability was greater than that.

It both was and wasn't good news from Lance's perspective. His initial idea was that maybe everyone could learn to do what he was learning to do, and that together they might pull Allura out of the sort of half-space she was in, and then take the mote out of her. This was looking less likely, unless he got his class of mystics to help him. All of the things he wanted to do were pretty solidly on the 'alchemy' page of 'interesting quintessence tricks'. He didn't really see how what Keith could do would _help_ in the whole 'get Allura back' plot. Keith's entire ability set seemed geared toward ...well... hunting down and killing people. Not that he wanted to say it in so many words.

But there _had_ to be more to it, didn't there? Keith remembered the dreams that had led him to the Blue Lion. The _knowing_ when planets had died to the komar. There was more to what he could do than just knowing when someone was around. The problem was what to do with it, how to grow that, and what to even try growing it into. Keith remembered that lone crazy year rather better than he'd ever want to admit to. If he had to be that lost, that desperate to pick up ...signals from the universe or whatever it was, then that aspect of his 'gifts' were pretty much useless.

How could _he_ help get Allura back, as he'd promised Lance he'd try to do?

Into this ...not really even an excuse for meditation, came Acxa. "Your console has a message for you."

It was better than another round of highs and lows - the highs of expanding the gifts he had, the lows of pondering their lack of usefulness to the actual problem. Keith got up to go and see.

The message was simple; the doctors at the clinic wanted Shiro to come to Trebi next, and meet with both himself and Lance. Anvils from on high had a way of being simple. He didn't realize he'd frozen in place until he heard Acxa's concerned, "...Keith?" behind him.

He switched the console off. "We need to get one of the guest quarters revamped," he said. "We're going to need to go get Shiro."

Acxa smiled a bit - surely this rated as Good News - but it faded quickly when she realized Keith wasn't acting happy. "Why is this not good?"

Because he didn't need to show Shiro he was _still_ screwing shit up. Because he didn't want Shiro to have to try sleeping in galra quarters in case it meant nightmares but he didn't want to force Shiro to stay somewhere on Trebi. Because Shiro was just getting over some kind of breakdown at the Garrison and Keith wasn't at all sure he could help. Because he couldn't remember if anyone had told Shiro that Allura wasn't actually dead. Because he wasn't sure if he was being too protective or not protective enough. And because he was sure Allura was invisibly watching the entire conversation and it wasn't helping his mood at all.

Keith settled on, "It's good news, I'm just having a headache. Grab the others. _Someone_ should enjoy making this a shopping day."

~*~

Romelle had had bigger headaches. Coran was a master at causing them, really. But the Trebians...well. They were absolutely a class unto themselves.

The first headache was, of course, defining 'Altean'. Ten thousand years of divergence meant that Queen Orla IV had a rather different idea of what it meant to be Altean than Romelle did. There was biology, of course. A sensitivity to mystic forces. And...that was it, really. Everything past the most basic elements seemed up for grabs. Even, and perhaps especially, 'Altean tradition'. Coran was the only one who actually had lived on Altea before its destruction, but as an arbiter of culture he was...not ideal. Besides; he had kin on Trebi, distant as they might be, and this mattered to him to the point that Romelle felt it was probably better to count him among the Trebian Alteans rather than the colonists.

And they were so... _kind_. 

Romelle was not used to status or position. She had the job of Altean Representative to the Coalition (although 'intergalactic alliance' was gaining traction as a general term) pretty much because alone of the colonists she hadn't at any point been taken in by Lotor or Honerva, which looked very good to pretty much everyone else, and was slightly embarrassing when at home. (Not for her, as such - for anyone that _spoke_ to her. And since that was just about everyone now on Altea, by a curious sort of social recursion it meant that for the sake of pretty much everyone's mental health it was a good idea for Romelle not to be on Altea much.) But she wasn't a caretaker of 'Altean Culture'. She wouldn't really spot it if she saw it. There was just...how things were done. And how she did things wasn't really that different from how quite a lot of other people did those same things, so it felt pretty silly to her to put a big 'Altean' stamp on it. Like clothes. Everyone wore clothes. Everyone had preferences about clothes and what they thought looked good. But figuring out where in this 'Altean fashion' was? Not a clue. She wore what she felt like wearing. Mostly she'd gotten it from Earth swap shops, as it had taken quite a while for the Coalition to really set up stipends and so on for offworld representatives. Until the Trebians arrived she hadn't really given it a second thought.

But they were so kind about it. The queen treated Romelle like an equal, which was just all kinds of wrong since Romelle didn't actually rule anything - she was just the gobetween for the colonist elders and the coalition council. And she offered to have some outfits tailored for Romelle to look formal at any kind of event. And how did you refuse an offer like that? 

It took quite a while for Romelle to realize that kindness could be a weapon. She worked it out as she wondered why she felt guilty putting on clothes that were a gift. But that was it, wasn't it? They were gifts. Beautiful gifts. And you felt grateful to people that gave you gifts. The queen had managed to assert authority without having to debate anything or make any kind of case, simply by giving Romelle some fancy clothes. On top of which, because they looked similar now, everyone else was treating the Alteans as a united front, when Romelle wasn't at all certain they were anything of the kind. 

At least, not yet. _That_ would happen when Queen Orla and her entourage visited Altea.

Romelle was very much looking forward to these people visiting Altea. She'd never been much good at convincing her people of anything, nor could she predict how they'd take yet another outsider coming in declaring what was best for them. Maybe theyd' bow again. Maybe they'd refuse. But at least Romelle wouldn't have to guess.

In the meantime she was finding that loose silk pants were wonderful to wear but made doorknobs very electrical.

~*~

Keith wondered how he'd managed to work with Lance for years and yet not know that the man was an avid shopper. More than that, a _bargain hunter_ , which was just insane given that as a Paladin of Voltron, Guest of the Queen, and Chosen of Allura, all he had to do to get a thing for free was indicate that he'd like to have it.

Apparently, taking a day off from 'attempting to do new things with quintessence' was something pretty much everyone needed. So while the generals weren't shoppers as such, they were quite all right with watching Lance demonstrate the proper techniques. Keith said what was needed, and gave any restrictions - as, for example, he knew Shiro wasn't generally big on elaborate scrollwork or busy patterns - and then ...then it became a team effort, with Ezor finding shops, Lance finding bargains, and Acxa, Zethrid and Keith hauling the loot, periodically calling Kosmo for quick pops back to the Janus to drop said loot off. Zethrid proclaimed it to be 'like raiding, but with precision', which probably meant she wasn't sure whether she liked it or not.

Once everything was Acquired, Lance treated everyone to lunch at one of the restaurants they hadn't been Firmly Disinvited From yet, and it was...good. It wasn't even weird anymore. Zethrid trying not to crush tiny Trebian chairs, Ezor's head tentacle randomly slapping the butts of passing Trebian men, Acxa's so-careful watchful silence. All three women had tried to kill him at least twice and it was now perfectly normal to sit down at an outdoor restaurant and enjoy late spring weather and Trebian cuisine with them like nobody had ever tried to shoot anybody in the head.

_Have you noticed?_ Allura asked, shimmering into view. _He's more at home with them than he was with us._

Lance blinked at her. "Who, Keith?" he asked. "Well...yeah. They're straightforward and baseline homicidal. That's pretty much his kind of people."

He meant it as a joke, but Allura took it seriously. _He knows I'm here. He can't see me, or hear me, but he knows I'm here. And that blade can hurt me._

"Once we've got that mote thing out of you it won't," said Lance. "And it's not like he'd ever use it on you."

Allura gave him a dubious look. _You're very sure of that. I've seen him reach for it, when he senses me._

"When was that?" asked Lance, frowning now - and getting curious looks from Ezor over it.

"He's probably talking to Allura," Keith told Ezor. "She's here."

Ezor shrugged. "Got to admit. Having her around has really made me understand why people react so badly to _me_ startling them."

"And yet," said Keith dryly, "you still do it."

"Of course!" grinned Ezor. "It's fun."

_Not when someone draws a knife on you,_ said Allura silently. And then, to answer Lance, _I followed him to his ship once or twice. They haven't really done much to that cruiser. It's very...galra._

"You wouldn't happen to have gone in his room, would you?" asked Lance silently. "Because he's been known to get touchy about that." Out loud, to Ezor, he said, "I'd play too, but I still can't sense you. It's definitely a trick I'd like to master, though."

_You'll see for yourself when you go up there today,_ said Allura. _It's a very depressing ship._

He did really have to agree with her, once lunch was over. Kosmo brought everyone up, two at a time. The Janus was...well, it was a galra battle cruiser. There really was no mistaking it for anything else. The purple lines were now pale green, almost yellow, but that was the only real difference. The ship was huge, largely dark, and devoid of decoration or warmth. And yet Lance saw all of its crew relax a bit once they saw the familiar surroundings, even Keith.

"It's not dark to you?" he asked.

"Not really," said Keith. "Trebi's really very bright. I mean, I'm used to bright, but it's never comfortable." He indicated a door. "If he wants it, these will be Shiro's rooms."

Lance could see why Keith thought maybe Shiro would rather stay anywhere else. Galra battle cruisers were about as homelike as a board on top of some rocks. But on the other side of the door was quite a nice little set of rooms - officer quarters for certain, though even galra officers didn't seem to go much in for luxury. Walk in shower, bed, desk...yeah, mostly it seemed to be space as a mark of status, and not actually used. Until now - there were piles of the day's purchases now filling quite a lot of the space. He turned up the room's lighting and watched all the part-galra take a moment or two to adjust. "All of you okay with the light? I kind of need it."

"We adapt," said Acxa blandly. "But this is a mess. More light does not make it look better."

"Probably not," Lance agreed. "But it helps me see the dust."

"There's no dust," said Ezor, almost offended. "We keep this ship in good shape!"

"Figure of speech!" said Lance. "Okay, here's the mattress. We'll start there. Uh. Ezor, want to help me wrestle this onto the bunk?"

And so it began. First the mattress was wrestled onto the bunk, then dressed in sheets and blankets and pillows. The walls were decorated with scroll-like hangings that looked to be the Trebian adaptation of Japanese illustrated story scrolls. Little lights were added to niches and shelves so that the occupant could control how bright the room was, and concentrate it on specific areas if desired. Rugs were laid down, books were put onto available shelving, towels in the shower room (there were air jets that normally did the job of drying, but towels were a decidedly earth-type indulgence that some Trebians enjoyed). Paintings were placed to hide the bare walls, along with the scrolls, until the room looked fairly comfortable and welcoming by Earth standards.

Lance nodded approval at their finished efforts. "Okay. I want to do one last thing." He paused, then plowed on. "I need everyone to hold hands with me for a bit."

This got owlish yellow-eyed stares for a few seconds because the group of 'everyone' included Zethrid. Keith gave her a little nod that meant yes, Lance was being serious, yes she should, and yes he'd never ever tell anyone.

Acxa spoke for all when she said, "Why is this necessary?"

"Shhh," said Lance, as they gathered. Lance-Keith-Acxa-Zethrid-Ezor-Lance, hands linked. Lance closed his eyes and the marks on his face glowed. Keith could feel Lance....drawing on him. This much the generals could feel too; worried frowns sprouted around the little circle. Diffuse, sourceless light seemed to fill the air, and a sense of peace.

Acxa nudged Keith and nodded to a corner. He followed her gaze and saw Allura, translucent and limned in the faint light. She was doing something too; the marks on her face shone to match Lance's. Ezor saw it too, following their eyes, but Allura stood behind Zethrid who just shifted weight from foot to foot, trying not to break the silence or the circle but really _edgy_ about everyone seeing something behind her.

The light was draining; Keith and all three generals wobbled as it faded, feeling like a week of sleep might be a good idea. And the room felt welcoming and warm and safe. Lance let go of Ezor's hand, and Keith's, and nodded with satisfaction. "I think Shiro'll be fine with these rooms now, Keith."

"You used our quintessence," said Keith. "What did you _do_?"

"A really small, confined version of the work I did on Earth," said Lance. "The gardens at home took me and my whole family months to ward. With you four, and just these rooms? This is good now. If Shiro starts feeling shaky, bring him back to these rooms."

"Okay _what were you all staring at?"_ demanded Zethrid, now that it was clear she could talk again. "I mean it. No tricks."

"We could see Allura," said Keith. "Sort of a shining ghost." To Lance, he added, "She was helping?"

Lance blinked at him. "Of course she was helping, Keith. Shiro's her friend too."

"...Could we do this in our rooms too?" asked Ezor. For once, the sharp caustic edge wasn't present in her voice. Just wonder.

Lance smiled. "Yeah. If you want, yeah. But we'll all need to rest a few days first. And if you two could...you know, do your resting _together_ , that'd help you recover faster."

Zethrid grinned a grin that was full of sharp teeth. "Yeah, I think we can do that. Permission to take off, boss?"

Keith waved them off and Zethrid scooped Ezor up in her arms, carrying her out of the room. Acxa gave Keith a wry look. "I'll walk, thank you."

After Acxa was gone, Lance asked, "Do they do that a lot? Zethrid and Ezor?"

"Yeah," said Keith, bone-tired now that he let himself feel it. They'd definitely just sunk a lot of energy, physical and metaphysical, into this little project. 

"That's gotta bite," said Lance, solemn now. "Having them be like that, when Shiro's..."

"Not really," said Keith. "It's nice to see _somebody's_ life working out. Most of the part-galra I've met are dead, Lance." He mmm'd. "But we know one thing now. We can help you at least as batteries. We can do the circle thing."

Lance blinked. "I...you know, I didn't notice? It was just automatic. I've done it so often with the family, but just little amounts because it's a big family. But you four, man, you've got a lot of quintessence to you. We may be able to do this thing right after all." He paused. "But...you can't be part of that circle. You'll have to stay outside it."

Keith blinked. "After all this training? Why?"

"Because the first thing I'm doing once I can, is pull that mote out of Allura," said Lance seriously. "I've been glad you can't hear her. Being around galra hasn't done wonders for her. It's got to be that dark stuff, pushing her buttons. And I don't want it put in a jar or something where she can just take it back. I want it dead. You've got the knife for that, and the senses to make sure it doesn't get away. So don't let it get away, okay? You track it down if it gets loose. You make sure it doesn't do this to anyone else."

Keith thought about this, and nodded. "I'll make sure of it."

~*~

Shiro said, "I'm not ready."

Merisan mm'd. "So. This is why you have spent most of your days in the weight room."

"I think better while working out," shrugged Shiro. "But I'm not ready for this. I don't know what to do with it."

Dr. Merisan studied him for a few moments. "I believe that is precisely why you _are_ ready for it," he said. "You have let go preconceptions. You have considered your memories - _all_ of your memories, and where they may and may not apply. You are open to an experience that in any significant respect is new. It is normal to be nervous about the new."

"I didn't feel this way about meeting Hunk again," said Shiro. "Or Pidge." He paused. "Much."

"Keith is one of your oldest friends," said Merisan. "Sam and Matt Holt predate him, but have different conceptions of you, and of your friendship. You have had two minds about Keith from the day you arrived here, and now you are ready to examine both viewpoints and where they may or may not be accurate. In meeting Keith again you will have the yardstick you have wanted - a way to see where you have changed, and perhaps where you still want to change."

Shiro exhaled. Slow, controlled. A counter to anxiety. "Okay...so. When?"

"When you are ready," said Merisan mildly. "I am informed that quarters have been prepared for you, and am to tell you that the word has been given that they will be private quarters. No surveillance, and no one entering without your permission, and that you are to 'call the wolf' at any time you feel the need to retreat to them. I understand that the two paladins have much they wish to discuss with you, and are preparing in advance for you to have time to process. You will be brought back here when you ask to be."

Shiro blinked. "That's not how the Holts did it."

"Perhaps you should ask your friends why they have chosen an alternate methodology," said Merisan dryly. "Let us know when you wish to depart, and we will send word to the BMS Janus to come for you."

~*~

They didn't go straight to the clinic. There was business to finish on Earth first, and with Lance along, an extra pair of hands to make it go faster.

Namely, getting Varkon's "Champion" collection out of Krolia's house, so as to properly return it to Varkon. 

Lance was _floored_. "I remember us having fans," he said. "You know, when we were doing all that coalition building media stuff. But this...is seriously next level. This is all that mall cop's?"

Keith dropped a bunch of collectible-card binders on lance's arms. "Yep," he said. "He wants a group photo, by the way. Or at least, photos with each of us, signed."

"Huh," said Lance. "Guessing he wants a photo that has him in it or I'd say I've got stacks collecting dust." He grinned over the binders at Keith's blank look. "They're handy trade items. Ask Pidge sometime."

The goods were put into a locked storeroom - the cruiser had storage space aplenty, since that was mostly what they used it for - but Lance opted to stay with it. "No really," he said, when Keith asked if he was coming to the clinic. "I don't want to see doctors. Doctors and my face marks don't get along these days. I'll stay with this stuff. I had _no idea_ people had gone this...wow. I mean this is _in depth_. Coran didn't set this up?" he asked, turning the pages.

"This is that year he was missing," said Keith. "When the empire took his arm. Before he met Coran. Varkon bribed Imperial staff to get this stuff - cards based on gladiators was apparently a Thing before Zarkon died."

"Lotor shut it down?" asked Lance. "Wow."

"More like ruined it, apparently," said Keith. "He fought on the sands right after taking the regency, and hid his identity. So a lot of people bet against him, and then he won. And _then_ challenged a general to come take him down, and won that one too. Lot of people lost a lot of money, and there was a whole thing around people who'd bet against him having to find other things to do." He shrugged. "Basically it stopped being fun when Lotor made it clear he'd use established career generals as monster bait." From his tone, Keith clearly felt Lotor had done a good thing there.

Lance couldn't argue that, but..."It's okay if I go through this stuff, right? Or is this like, rare collection stuff?"

"I think it's okay provided you don't ask Shiro questions about it without warning," said Keith slowly. "I went and got it all because Shiro's memories were kind of screwed up. I don't think a collectible card game is how he'd want to remember it. Oh, and don't damage it. Varkon apparently paid a lot to put this collection together, and we promised we'd keep it safe for him. Now that it looks like Shiro doesn't need the reminders, I need to remember to return it."

Lance nodded. "I'll leave you some private time with Shiro then, and look through all this while I can." He grinned, and for a moment Keith saw the Lance that had flown the Lions. "Maybe I can get Varkon interested in collecting stuff about _me_ next."

~*~

Shiro was waiting, somewhat uncomfortably, in the clinic's parking lot. His duffel was packed, and he was using his prosthetic arm to hold it over one shoulder because the fingers didn't fall asleep.

He'd never seen Keith's personal ship. But it had to be Keith's. And it had to be one of Hunk's designs, because no one else built ships that hit on so many of the human aesthetics of beauty. Purple-black, curls of crimson, sleek and ferociously deadly. The name, _BMV Fang_ was in that crimson along the stern. It looked like a jawblade given independent life. It certainly looked roomier than a galra fighter.

The hatch opened and _good gods Kosmo had grown_ the cosmic wolf bounded out. He bounded right up to Shiro in fact, but stopped short of pouncing him flat onto the pavement. Instead, the wolf sniffed at Shiro's new arm, and then his human hand, and then nudged said hand in a pointed desire for pets. Shiro, wondering when the wolf had gotten so _huge_ , obliged.

Keith followed the wolf out, and ...it had been a while, hadn't it. Or maybe it was the changed setting. Or both. Keith looked taller, older. He could look Shiro in the eyes, now. The ponytail was now a businesslike braid that fell over his left shoulder and across his chest. The fondness for red hadn't changed, although the shade was darker now, more maroon than crimson. The boyish prettiness was gone; this was a man, and the way he moved out in the sun said clearly that indoor living wasn't his way. 

There wasn't a smile showing anywhere, either - not even in his eyes. He hadn't seen Keith this closed off since...childhood, maybe. Expecting to be abandoned so thoroughly that no effort was made to reach out in the first place. But his voice was gentle when he said, "I'll get your bag. Take the copilot chair."

Kosmo had to nudge Shiro into doing so, staying at his side until they were both on board. The wolf flumped down in a circle in the back, and Shiro took the copilot chair. The controls were...remarkably intuitive. Hunk was an unbelievably good engineer. Behind him, he heard Keith board and stow the duffel, and then Keith slid into the chair next to him and started flicking switches. The hatch closed behind him, the interior lights dimmed, and the console lighting intensified. "It'll just be a short hop," he said. "The Janus is in orbit."

Shiro thought about it. "...Janus. The Roman god of two faces. Beginnings and endings, gateways, that kind of thing. I didn't know you studied old histories."

"Required course," said Keith, as the ship lifted smoothly off the ground. "We needed a name that didn't sound galra. All of the crew are mixed race, so I chose a god of..." he paused, frowning. "Liminal spaces. When something's neither one thing nor the other. Because we aren't."

Shiro could see why they needed a not-galra name for the ship, because it _looked_ like a fully armed galra cruiser, and those were not typically a welcome sight. The name of the ship was clearly visible and its transponder had a long broadcast range. There was no sneaking around in that ship. "You didn't paint it?"

"We didn't think people that would freak out seeing an incoming cruiser would care much what color it was, Shiro," said Keith, with a touch of the dry humor Shiro was more used to. As they approached, a port opened on the side and Keith landed the Fang smoothly into its berth. Keith opened the hatch, and Kosmo bounded out first. Keith followed, taking the duffel with him, leaving Shiro to get out when he was ready.

Once he did, he started seeing where the changes were. He'd been on the hangar floor of cruisers before. This one had nowhere near enough space for a full complement of fighters. There were maybe half a dozen fighters here, and the Fang, and the rest of the hangar floor had been sealed off. The lighting was a pale blue-green instead of purple, which maked the area feel brighter.

"Hey, don't I get a hello?" came Lance's voice, and Shiro turned to greet him. Lance had filled out since the wedding - more solidly muscled, less gangly. The Altean markings on his cheeks were pretty clearly visible, and his hair was in a loose ponytail. The blue he favored was somewhat more faded, but went well with the tan. And the aura of puppyish uncertainty was gone. 

"Sorry, just taking things in," said Shiro, giving Lance a welcoming hug. "The inside's a lot different from what I would've expected."

"Yeah, I got that too," said Lance. "Anyway, let's get you to your quarters, and then you're free to wander."

Despite it fairly clearly being Keith's ship, Lance did most of the talking as they walked to the lifts, and to the habitation deck. "Mostly I'm told the Janus does cargo runs - you know, water to desert worlds, seeds to new colonies, that kind of thing. So they took out most of the fighters, and converted most of the ship to cargo space. It's kind of a work in progress - they convert what they can when they get the time and money to do it. Fuel was first, then the cargo bays, and now they're getting new personal ships so people stop panicking at the sight of fighters."

Keith kept a hand on Kosmo's shoulders as they walked, absently petting the wolf as they went. Pausing by a door that had the kanji for 'Shirogane' painted on it neatly in luminescent paint, he said, "Your room. No one's going in there but you. There's a comm if you need to reach the bridge, and if you get lost just ...think hard in Kosmo's direction. He'll show you the way. I'll be on the bridge." He set the duffel down to rest against the door, gave Kosmo an affectionate muzzle-rub in farewell, and walked off.

Shiro watched him go thoughtfully. He wasn't offended, though he could tell Lance thought he might be. He'd never had a problem reading Keith the way others seemed to. Keith wasn't upset with him - he was simply trying not to be invasive. Trying to give Shiro space, as he'd been asked to do.

Lance coughed. "He's kinda been a little edgy today, but we've had a lot to do. Anyway. Your rooms." He hit a button, and the door opened.

The duffel quietly thudded to the ground in the doorway. "...You guys went to a lot of trouble."

"Not really," said Lance. "We made a day of it. And Zethrid can carry a lot, and Kosmo just teleported stuff when it got too much to carry. It's all Trebian though. We can pick up Earth stuff while we're here, if you want to."

Shiro absently picked up his duffel, walking inside. "It feels very homey, and I never thought I'd say that about a galra ship. Thank you. Um. Mind if I get settled? Will you be on the bridge too?"

"Yeah, I think so," said Lance. "I've got a room here too for now, but mostly I've been staying at the palace on Trebi. See you on the bridge."

Which just left Kosmo...who calmly padded into the rooms, and sat down on his haunches in a nice clear space with an attitude that cheerfully said _you can try moving me if you like_. 

"Yeah, I don't think so," said Shiro dryly. "Just don't try to follow me into the bathroom and we're good." There was even a dresser. Shiro started unpacking. It really did feel warm and welcoming in here, much moreso than the guest room at the Holts'. He could feel the cruiser's engines thrumming in the floor and knew the ship was in flight, but it didn't _feel_ like traveling, any more than being in an interior cabin on a cruise ship did. Which was a little odd, given that the decor was so...uncanny valley. It was like shops he'd seen in Tokyo and San Francisco, where the shirts were in the foreign-to-the-locals language, and typically said things that the wearer probably would be truly embarrassed to know about if they could only read it. The scrolls _looked_ like old Japanese wall scrolls, but the characters were all Altean. That sort of feel was all over the room; things made because Earth things were strange and exotic, with only an imperfect understanding of their use.

He could stay here, he thought. For a while, certainly. He looked at Kosmo, and found the wolf was calmly watching him get settled. "So...if I need to, you'll bring me here?" Kosmo's steady stare didn't flicker, but one ear did. "Guess that'll have to do. Um. Show me the way to the bridge? Walk, don't teleport. I need to learn my way around."

Kosmo's jaw dropped, tongue lolling briefly before the wolf got up and padded to the door. "Okay then," said Shiro, walking over to open it.

~*~

"Are you two just not even friends anymore?" asked Lance curiously.

Keith settled into the pilot's seat; the generals were already at their stations. The Janus got clearance, left orbit, headed for the wormhole point. "He told me he wants to get to know me," he said. "Doesn't really know where we fit anymore. So it's starting from zero."

"Keith, your zero is a shitty place to be," said Lance seriously. "You acted like you don't know who he is."

"That's what he wanted," said Keith. "Hang on. Wormhole." 

They were silent while the ship wormholed back into Trebi's system, settling soon enough back into orbit behind its moon. Once the ship's position was locked, the generals moved away from their stations. 

"Better to leave it alone, pretty boy," Ezor advised lightly. "This has been going on a long time now."

"Yeah," rumbled Zethrid. "Humans don't know how to treat a mate. But we're not allowed to punch him."

"No, we're not," Acxa agreed firmly, her tone saying she was reminding them.

Lance just shook his head. "Okay. Clearly this is a galra thing, and I'm going to butt out for now. Are we going back down to the planet?"

"If Shiro's up to it," said Keith. "This all goes at his pace while he's here. Pidge pushed too hard and it didn't go well."

"Yeah," Lance agreed with a frown. "Heard about that."

They paused, as Shiro and Kosmo made it to the bridge. He looked at the viewscreen, and the planet. "That's....Trebi?"

"Yep," said Lance. "They'll want to test you, but it won't hurt." Keith gave him a Look. "Probably won't hurt. I'm pretty sure I fixed it." The Look was becoming a pointed Glare, which confused Lance until he remembered about Shiro's connection to the Black Lion. "Uh. We can probably talk them out of it if you don't want to."

"It's up to you," said Keith. "My crew can take a job if you want to come along for that. The training we've been doing with Lance, we can just take him along for."

"Hey now," said Lance. " _My_ teachers are down on Trebi. I kinda need to be around for the classes. But if you want to do this a bit at a time, I can go back down, and you can fill Shiro in on everything we're up to, and we can all convene down planetside when you've done?"

Shiro just looked uncertain, which set both Keith and Lance back a bit. Neither was used to uncertainty from Shiro. "...How about we stay here a bit," he said slowly. "And maybe go down to the planet while you guys tell me what kind of crazy thing is going on now?"

"Crazy talk over milkshakes is a go," said Lance.


	36. The Mortar Holding Your Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro meets Trebi - Allura - Lessons - A few cluebats

The sun was bright and warm, and the world was almost like Earth. A lot more like Earth than it was like Altea, really. Shiro was reminded (again) of Japan; specifically, comparing the Japan of centuries ago, when it was an isolated island, to modern Japan that was almost, but not exactly quite, like any Western city. Trebi had evolved over time, taking what it found interesting or useful from its nearest neighbor.

Which apparently included malt shops, long gone on Earth itself. Remembering how Coran and Allura had found milkshakes to be the best of Earth treats, though, he wasn't too surprised to find they'd survived here. Lance ordered while Keith and his generals secured seating, and Shiro just...picked one. Even the flowers here had a bit of Earth to them. He was sure he could see violets in the green.

"They have a test for paladins," Keith said quietly. "A plaza in one of their parks. If you're a paladin, it activates one or more of the stone lions to come off its pedestal."

"They seem to like moving statue creatures," Acxa added. "The royal family is on Earth just now or you would see their ceramic horses."

Shiro was mostly watching Keith, but gave Acxa a nod to say he'd heard her. "...You aren't sure if the stone lions will react to me," he said. "Neither am I, if we're being honest. It doesn't matter. The real Black Lion remembers me."

"It _does_ matter," said Keith flatly. "Our welcome here is because those lions reacted to us. I got two. Lance got _three_. So it may be better if you stick with one of us while you're here."

That wasn't all Keith was having a problem with. Shiro could see that, but Lance joined them with a large tray of elaborate milkshakes, which he passed around. "Okay. Get settled and ready for bombshells."

Shiro took his - lychee and melon, just to see if that was something the Trebians could get right - and settled into his chair as a general signal of _yes, okay, go on_.

Lance, however, loved being dramatic. "Point the first. Allura's not dead."

Blink. Blinkblink. "...Okay, where's she stuck at?" asked Shiro.

Lance stared; this wasn't the reaction he was expecting. Keith chuckled quietly into a cookies-n-cream. 

"Black Lion, Lance, remember?" asked Shiro. "Been there, done that. So, where's she stuck at?"

"Oh. Right," said Lance. "I guess it didn't register as the same thing because I've known where she was from the beginning, and I didn't...you know, with you." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She's...sort of stuck where we left her, I think. In a place between the places. I can see and hear her, when she wants me to. Keith can sense her whether she wants him to or not, but can't see or hear her. And she's still got that mote thing. She says I'm her anchor. She gave me ...powers, I guess. I've been here lately, trying to learn more about how to use them. Tried to teach Keith, but we're mostly finding that what he can do and what I can do don't overlap. But I think you can help."

Shiro sipped the shake - really very good, apparently Trebians took their shakes _seriously_ \- and looked at things from Lance's perspective. "You're figuring that because she pulled me out of the Black Lion, that we may still have a connection?"

"Well, that and that you've probably got more quintessence to you than the average human," said Lance. "You knew all those things about the Lions, and you woke up the Atlas. So you're pretty definitely some kind of sensitive now. We just need to figure out the exact how."

"You're really the only full human sensitive we know about right now," said Keith seriously. "Lance seems to be an Altean type because of whatever Allura did to him. I can do different things, which we're thinking means I'm leaning galra. But we won't know until you try stuff, if there's any overlap where all three of us can work."

"And don't mind the plaza lions," said Lance. "They're geared toward an Altean idea of all this. Their white lion didn't twig a whisker at Keith and we both know he can do stuff."

"If you've known Allura was alive all this time," said Shiro, "Why did you never say anything?"

Lance winced. "I didn't know right away," he said. "And it's started slowly. Dreams that got more vivid with time. Things I'd see out of the corner of my eye. Little words or phrases dropped into my head. She wasn't...together...at first. Like she was asleep, maybe. But when Trebi was discovered," and he waved a hand at Keith and the generals, making Ezor grin, "that got her attention. She got more and more...awake, I guess. Watching humans meet their neighbors, watching the Trebians come out of hiding. She's really awake now, and some kind of goddess. See..." he took a deep breath. "This planet we're standing on? She did this. All of this."

He hadn't told Keith yet, so this time Lance was stared at by everyone. "There's thousands of people here," said Keith. "She can just... _make people_ now?"

"Not...exactly?" winced Lance. "It's more that she's got a finger on space time or something. She twigged to the course of an escaping Altean castleship back when this was all starting. A castleship of some cousins of hers, and Coran's. I think ...instead of it going wherever it was going to originally go, which would've got it caught by Zarkon and blown up, she sent it here. A galaxy so far away it stayed off Zarkon's radar the whole time. And she made sure this planet was habitable, so that the Alteans could stay here. So she didn't so much _create_ life as save it, and set conditions so that it wouldn't screw with any major events." He snapped his fingers. "Oh! I almost forgot to add, Shiro. Coran does have family here. He's been staying with them. Probably _still_ having some kind of catch-up talkfest. But he's here, if you want to drop in. I think Kosmo knows where to find him."

"I'll bear that in mind," said Shiro. "So...Allura has the power to change history, as well as restore whole planets?" He thought about that. "She doesn't want to come back, does she?"

"She doesn't want to be alone," said Lance. "She's been getting stronger since waking up, but Keith's seen her all of once. I'm not powerful enough or trained enough to pull on the cord. I was thinking - if we all got together, pulled _together_..."

But Shiro frowned. "You didn't answer my question, Lance. Does she _want_ to come back? She just singlehandedly saved her entire species. Does she _want_ to give that up?"

"...No," said Lance in a small, miserable tone. "No. She doesn't. But she's got to. She's still got that mote thing. And it's screwing with her mind, Shiro. You remember how she got when we first found out Keith was part galra? It's like that only worse. And Alteans can do no wrong and are the total arbiters of all wisdom even when we can _prove_ they don't know everything. If she can bring whole planets into existence and tweak the timelines like nothing, surely she can come back to us and still be a goddess if she has to?"

Shiro could accept that, from Lance. He loved her, and he missed her, and he was clearly worried about her. The bit where she was a goddess now and apparently making pretty significant changes to the universe was, for Lance, a secondary concern. He looked to Keith. "And your take on this?"

"I promised Lance I'd help get her back," said Keith, as if that was all that needed to be said.

It wasn't, but Shiro didn't want to have that discussion where Lance could hear it and be hurt by it. So he looked to the three former generals, to see their reactions. Acxa was solemn but resolute - the course had been decided, and she would back it. Ezor and Zethrid weren't as certain. They'd come along, but they didn't seem to have faith that this wasn't going to bite them somehow. If Allura really was slipping into more extreme views, he could understand why. The generals had, between them, a _lot_ of experience with progressively-more-insane employers.

Ezor, noticing Shiro's attention, leaned forward. "We're Blades now," she said. "And Allura's a druid. We've got a job to do...but she's really powerful."

Somewhat to Shiro's surprise, Keith drew his own Blade and set the dagger on the table in front of them. When the little Marmora symbol flashed, all four Blades tensed. Acxa, Zethrid and Ezor all looked like soldiers expecting an attack at any moment - but Keith was giving a stern glare at something unseen. And Lance looked like a migraine was having a family of little migraines in his head. The pain showed in his voice. "I get...why you said that, Ezor, but could you please _not_ compare Allura to a druid in her hearing?" he asked, leaning forward to put his face in his hands, elbows on the table.

"I haven't learned that alarm trick yet," said Ezor, still looking around to see what might drop on them.

A fight, Shiro realized. Keith could sense Allura's location. He was protecting his crewmates, letting Allura know he was armed and knew where to strike, without making the threat overt. But - this was _Allura_. Allura was ...

...not, apparently, quite as Shiro remembered her. But still. "That's enough," he said, making his voice a whip and aiming it where Keith was looking. "No one here is your enemy, Allura. Knock it off."

Keith's knife stopped flashing, and Lance visibly slumped forward, until his forehead was on the table. "I am so gonna pay for that later," he said weakly, "but thanks. Glad to have you with us."

Keith left his knife where it was, apparently aware that his fellow Blades were now watching it carefully. "I'll work on seeing if they can learn the trick with the knife," he said. "You gonna be okay, Lance?"

"Fine as I'll ever be," said Lance faintly, not raising his head from the table. "She sort of flounced off when Shiro snapped at her. So I'll get a skull-full later when she's ready to tell me how offended she is. For now I'm taking the win."

Shiro reached out to gently pat Lance on the shoulder. Having a goddess for a girlfriend couldn't be fun at the best of times, but this was...bad. "How long has it been this bad?"

Lance waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Keith and the other galra. "...I'll let Keith fill you in. I need to shake this off before she comes back."

"You're not walking to the palace like that," said Keith. He closed his eyes and Kosmo poofed into being in a whoosh of blue motes. "He needs to get back to his rooms at the palace," he said to the wolf. "Will you take him?"

Kosmo nudged Keith, then shoved his big furry head at Lance and they both disappeared.

"Sorry," said Ezor with quiet regret, still watching Keith's knife for flashes. "I didn't think to check first. You'd think I'd know better."

"We'll practice setting the blade alert," said Keith quietly. 

"I might not be galra enough," said Ezor. "Show Zethrid first?"

"Is she doing that to Lance a lot?" asked Shiro.

"Not that we've seen," said Acxa. "But she often seems to avoid us. It's possible we remind her of Lotor. She was probably here to watch you."

"How far is the Palace?" asked Shiro. "We could go and check on him."

"Fair hike," said Keith. "About an hour if we take it easy. You'd need to visit the Plaza of Lions first. You're not an envoy of Earth, or a recognized Paladin here. I'll check on him in a few hours." He paused. "Oh. There's a secure console on the Janus. If you want to talk to the doctors, you can do it from there if you don't want to go all the way back."

Shiro noticed the knife was staying dark. "So...her interest isn't in you, or us. Just Lance?"

"Mostly, for now," Keith agreed. "When she put the marks on his face she was making him into some kind of anchor. He's what lets her know she's in the right reality, the right time. We're pretty sure I can hurt her now, if I've got my blade. But it'd take Lance to really bring her back, or heal her. He's made no secret that he wants to pull that mote out of her, and she doesn't seem to like that idea."

"...I see," said Shiro slowly. He could see, too, why Keith had remembered about the console. This was the kind of tangle he'd normally talk to the doctors about. On the one hand it was Allura's life, and body, and she had the right to decide what to do with both. On the other...there was a fair pile of evidence suggesting Allura's decisionmaking ability was compromised. What he'd just seen was...excessive, and cruel. Allura could be judgmental, but she'd never been _cruel_ before. "Is this kind of thing why you agreed to help Lance?"

"The morality of a decision is independent of whether the decision is praised or condemned, whether it succeeds or fails," said Keith flatly, and Shiro realized Keith was quoting his own words back at him. "I didn't argue when Allura took the mote. I didn't act to _make_ her give it up when we no longer needed its connection to Honerva. So what's happening to those two now, that's on me, and I will fix it."

Shiro wasn't sure now was the time for moral absolutes, and the way Keith tended to remember things said to him long after Shiro had mentally moved on was unnerving. "...By doing what, exactly?"

"When Allura's in this world, Lance can pull the mote out of her," said Keith. "And I - we -" and he indicated the other generals, "can destroy it, so it can't be taken back or infect anyone else."

"And if Lance can't pull the mote out?" asked Shiro curiously.

"....That will depend on Allura," said Keith quietly, but there was a hardness there. He'd made up his mind, about something. Shiro looked past him, to the generals, and thought he understood. The generals had seen this kind of thing before - the sane becoming insane, and where it led. Allura was strong, and kind, and maybe it would take years - but it had _had_ years. The question was how many years before the damage couldn't be undone. Unconsciously, Shiro flexed the fingers in his prosthetic arm.

"If it helps, we'd rather not," said Ezor. 

This got questioning looks from both Keith and Shiro; Shiro because he wasn't sure why, and Keith because Ezor might have switched sides but she still had a sadistic streak and relished getting to make something bleed almost as much as Zethrid did. Ezor grinned at both of them. "Lance is like a cute little baby animal. All squooshy. He'd be _so_ much less fun if we had to kill his girlfriend."

Keith could buy that, although Shiro was now looking at _him_ and debating asking if he was quite all right traveling with these people. Acxa, noting all the words Not Being Said, got to her feet. "All right, you two. Let's let them be alone a while."

Ezor rolled her eyes. "You always want us to miss the best parts. Okay. We'll go check on prettyboy. That'll give you a few vargas."

Acxa would brook no delays, though, and soon enough the three generals were running into the city heart.

Shiro watched them go. "Are you sure you're all right with them? They don't seem to have changed much."

"They're all a lot older than either of us," said Keith. "It's fine. They're adapting." Alone with Shiro, he was settling into the distant, closed-off presence again. 

The second soul had to be prodded with 'no, it's not sulking'. Shiro wasn't sure yet what was behind that shell, but he knew Keith wasn't sulking. Protecting himself was more accurate, and he accepted that Keith had good reason to want to. "...You enjoy their company." Statement, not accusation. 

"They've become good friends," said Keith. "Like...we were looking for each other and didn't realize it until we had time together."

Defending them. That slipped past the shell, because the Keith of old hadn't _had_ friends. The shell had no room for them. So this was not Keith's usual state, it was something only Shiro was getting. "They've definitely had an interesting career so far."

"They've had to," said Keith bluntly. "Part-galra in the Empire normally got the crap jobs. They'd never be made officers. Lotor gave them a chance to show what they could do besides just survive, and they took it even though it meant following him into exile. Then Lotor betrayed them and abandoned them while he focused on Allura. Haggar kept them because of their connection to Lotor, and she wasn't their best CO but they could hang in there until Lotor took them back, and then Lotor lost his mind. By then the Empire was falling apart and they're good at surviving. Voltron was really the only threat they needed to worry about." He shrugged. "Acxa wanted to follow an honorable banner. Be part of something bigger. So she split off first. Zethrid and Ezor had their pirate run, which I gather they had fun with but they can't command, not really. Ezor's got the mind for it but has a hard time getting people to take her seriously _before_ she's cut ten holes in their hide. Zethrid gets lost in the battle haze - so focused on her target she forgets why she's shooting."

"...You say all that like they weren't trying to kill you during most of those 'phases'," said Shiro quietly. "Why doesn't that matter?"

"Why would it?" asked Keith simply. "They had their missions and their reasons for accepting them. So did we. It's not like we could've taken them in sooner than we did."

"Not _we_ , Keith. You," said Shiro. "I don't think anyone else would have."

"Maybe I just get where they're coming from," said Keith. "They just wanted a home."

_And you'd know all about that,_ Shiro realized. It was Keith mirroring what had been done with him, again. Someone finding them and giving them a place - as Shiro had done for Keith on Earth. 

But it _wasn't_ what Shiro would have done. Zethrid had had Keith captive, letting him die slowly breathing poisoned air, and she'd been about to shoot _him_ just to make Keith suffer. Shiro might not have shot to kill, but he certainly wouldn't have tried to save Zethrid when she nearly fell to her death after that. He had fairly definite views about people trying to kill him. He'd accepted Zethrid as a prisoner on the Atlas at Keith's behest, and Acxa's. Of the three generals, really only Acxa seemed actually trustworthy. But Keith seemed to be using a different measurement. "So...you're Acxa's honorable banner, Ezor's ...confidence, I guess...and Zethrid's brake?"

"Something like that," Keith agreed. "They won't touch you. Ezor normally likes to play games with people, but I already told her you're off limits."

"Seems to be interested in tormenting Lance," said Shiro. "And that's okay by you?"

Keith gave him a bland look. "If and when Lance actually tells her to _stop_ , she will," he said. "It's apparently been years since a flesh and blood female took any interest in him. Probably too much mystic daydreaming with his mother in earshot and the ghost of his not-actually-dead girlfriend in the shadows. Ezor gets to watch him blush in fifteen shades of red, and Lance is getting some level of himself back. He's going to need it to pull off what he wants to do." He paused. "Speaking of. I'm going to need to spend this afternoon seeing if they can learn how to set their blades to warn them when Allura's nearby. Will you keep an eye on Lance?"

Shiro blinked. That was...not what he'd expected. He'd rather thought that once he was visiting with Keith that Keith would act to stay near by. Or...be deferential. This was neither. But it _was_ a good call, a good use of the people that were available. "Yeah, sure," he said quickly. "But you said he's in the palace?"

Keith frowned, thinking. "...Lance said he fixed the test but now's really not the time for that. Tell them you're with Lance, or with me - either would work. You won't get the whole 'paladin' mystique thing, but maybe that's for the best. I've been wondering what these Trebians are like when they're not seeing someone they _need_ to be on the good side of."

"...You want me to be jerk bait," said Shiro, bland now. "Really."

"Not _want to_ ", said Keith, a bit irritated. "But since circumstances lean in that direction anyway, I'll go with it. Go with Kosmo if he'll take you, and tell my crew to get up to the Janus for practice time. Lance'll relax once Ezor's gone."

~*~

When Kosmo teleported Shiro to Lance's rooms at the palace, he didn't stay. Ezor and Zethrid asked the wolf - politely, Shiro noticed - for a ride up to the Janus. Acxa stayed behand. Lance was essentially oblivious - once given the option to just _lie down_ and let the headache pound, he apparently chose to do just that. But he looked awful compared to the malt shop. Pale with a kind of clammy sweat. Acxa led Shiro out of the room but left Lance a bell within reach for when he could handle the noise of conversation.

"Why did you stay?" asked Shiro.

"It is rude to ask Kosmo to transport more than two at a time if it is not an emergency," said Acxa. "And I have wanted to study you."

"Because of Keith," Shiro guessed. It wasn't exactly a difficult leap.

"He credits you with so much," said Acxa quietly, studying him as if he were a sculpture, or a painting, she was judging for authenticity.

"Is this the speech where you tell me if I hurt him you'll kill me?" asked Shiro mildly.

"I am possibly the only galra in the universe who would _not_ ," said Acxa. "Unless he asked me to, and we both know he would not do that."

Shiro blinked. She _cared_ about Keith. That wasn't hard to see. Her loyalty was underpinned with genuine affection. She read his confusion easily, but it just seemed to annoy her. 

"I would have taken what you have thrown away," she said flatly. "But it was never offered to me. If I would ever hope to _have_ it offered, you are...off limits. I have read enough of your stories to know humans do not work that way, but among galra you cannot kill a person's mate to take them yourself. You can't, because if you kill a person's mate they will kill you for it. So you are safe from me. No matter how much I might wish you weren't at times. For so skilled a general you are much more of an idiot than I expected."

Kosmo reappeared, then, and Acxa laid a hand in his fur to poof again in the swirl of blue motes.

Shiro exhaled slowly. He was reasonably certain Acxa hadn't lied, but he also had a feeling she hadn't told the whole truth. If only because he knew Keith well enough to guess that Acxa was leaving out the option of the suicide note approach - she didn't _want_ to lose her chance, but he rather suspected that if she truly thought the situation _had to end_ , she'd try to take him out even _if_ Keith killed her for it, just so Keith would then be free to find a more balanced relationship with _someone_ later on.

Then again, she'd abandoned Lotor to die. So maybe he was reading too much into things. Shiro decided he'd take the more paranoid option; it was probably safer. Now that she was gone, though, he headed back into Lance's room to take a seat by the bed. It was just as well Lance seemed to be sleeping off the headache, or assault, or whatever it was Allura had done; he needed time to think, and process.

And he was genuinely surprised that he didn't feel thoroughly overwhelmed. Given the high emotions simmering just about everywhere, he'd expected to be exhausted just from the drama alone. But then...well, generals aside, these were his friends. He hadn't felt exhausted by the Holts until he'd gone to bed, maybe that would be the case here. Shiro took Lance's hand in his - the human hand, for Lance's sake - to gauge how flattened he was. And let the events of the day wash over him. Considered himself, his reactions, as the doctors had taught him.

The division was gone, with regard to Keith. It wasn't...good. Not yet, anyway, but it had stopped being _bad_ , and that was something. Part of Shiro was...watching? Measuring. The second soul really didn't know much about Keith beyond 'don't get in a fight with him', and was filing away everything Shiro saw. And weighing the reasons Keith gave for acting.

Allura was alive, but clearly not _well_. Shiro couldn't imagine her doing this when he'd known her - to just ...spitefully hurt someone because _someone else_ said something she didn't like? That wasn't like Allura at all. He remembered her saying something, a long while back - before Oriande. Lotor had found Honerva's journals. That might be worth rediscovering. She'd known a lot before losing her mind.

"Did you fall asleep?" asked Lance, and Shiro opened his eyes. Lance didn't look a hundred percent, but he did look markedly better than earlier.

"No, just meditating," said Shiro. "I've been doing a lot of that lately."

"Me too," said Lance, stretching. "Feels weird, still, but I start feeling edgy if I skip a day. Like I've thrown myself out of kilter." He paused. "And Allura's back, and for the record says she's sorry. Can you sense her, here?"

Shiro blinked. "Should I be able to?"

"Maybe," said Lance. "I've had some theories, about humans and quintessence. Keith's mom seems to think they've got weight. But you're the real test subject. I've been changed, and Keith's only half human. Can you remember being in Allura's body, while she was transferring you from the Black Lion?"

Shiro shrugged. "A little? Maybe? As days go, that was one of the weirder ones."

"Weird but good," said Lance seriously. "I don't exactly applaud Keith's idea of decision making much, but I'm one hundred percent behind that one. We needed you. Now, try to feel for Allura's quintessence. Maybe see her, or hear her, or just sense her. Keith'll probably be all afternoon with the generals. We've got time. I'll try and walk you through it."

~*~

Tools were apparently where galra excelled.

None of the generals rated as a sensitive, as far as any of them could tell. No dreams, no hunches. But every Blade could learn to _use_ that Blade. It required the same sense of connection that extending it from dagger to full sword did, and being able to do that - being able to 'awaken' it - was the final test before acceptance into the order. 

That said, it didn't mean learning the trick was easy. The four Blades spent the afternoon practicing - first on extending and retracting their blades, to put the mental 'feel' in the forefront of the mind. And then they worked on the new trick - getting it to flash when specific conditions were met. It was easier to set it for a race (human, altean, galra) and they were able to practice by setting it for non-galra halves of their group; human, teifen, palle, bhiton. Ezor, not surprisingly, had the hardest time getting the hang of it, but everyone did what they could to help her.

Ezor, Acxa, and Zethrid didn't know Allura well enough to set their blades to flash when she neared - as such. But they knew, even better than Keith, what the presence of dark energy felt like. One by one, as they grew confident in their use of the trick, that's what they set their blade to warn for. Druids - or Allura.

"...I do feel bad about getting prettyboy all smooshed," Ezor admitted tiredly, once she'd gotten her knife's alarm set. "We probably don't have too much time to help the altean before 'help' means 'kill her quickly'."

"We're not going to focus on killing her," said Keith firmly. "No one ever pulled the mote out of Honerva. At least, before she died. We don't _know_ that Honerva was beyond help."

"I think we do," said Acxa solemnly. "We spent a lot more time around her than you did, Keith. I commend your compassion, but she had spent too long bound to it. She'd done too much with it. Even if she'd been separated from it, there was no healing that much damage. We should act as though Allura has limited time before the effects of the mote on her mind are irreversible."

"...Yeah," rumbled Zethrid. "I get that he wants to save her. But if she keeps going it's not gonna be long before she starts sounding like Lotor. We didn't take out the galra empire just to have an altean one."

"What's the _plan_ , boss?" asked Ezor carefully, looking at Keith. "Now that your mate's here, is that what we're dealing with?"

Keith took a deep breath. In honesty, having Shiro around but having to stay away, as he'd had to do on the Atlas, felt like wearing sandpaper. But he'd done his duty then, and he'd do it now. "We're here because Lance needs help," he said. "We'll deal with that first. I...apologize in advance if this...if my...whatever this is with Shiro gets in the way."

Zethrid got up, walked over to Keith, and lightly - at least, lightly for Zethrid - smacked him in the face. "Don't be stupid," she growled. "You think I don't know what you're going through? _Me_?" Her fangs were very clearly visible; she was Annoyed. "You think we stood by for _years_ while this farce spun out only to see it burn _now_? We. Will. Do. _Both_. Little pretty boy gets his ghost girl back _and_ we beat sense into your useless ape of a mate. _Both._ You got that?"

Keith just stood there, stunned. It was...not what he'd expected. Certainly not from Zethrid, who tended to get bored without something to pummel. But looking around the group, he understood she spoke for everyone. Even Acxa. He looked at her, puzzled. "The mission takes priority?" he asked carefully.

" _You_ are our mission," said Acxa. "We joined the Blades because of _you_. We chose to be assigned to _you_. If you stood here and said you wanted to be Emperor, we would join you, and fight for you. You chose to be a ship captain for the Blades; we crew for you. You say this man is your mate. We will make certain he respects you. Do you understand?" And in honesty, what should have sounded like a resounding declaration of loyalty _actually_ sounded like she was explaining the painfully obvious to a particularly slow-witted friend.

Zethrid growled approval. "We could still go back and take over the Empire," she said. "That'd be fun."

"Getting sidetracked," said Ezor, amused. "Anyway. That's the way we do things." She tossed her knife into the air, letting it flip a few times before catching it. "We've got our alarms set. What's next?"

Good question, actually. Keith filed away the weird warmth of their loyalty to process later. "I think...we're going to need to talk to Lance. I don't think he's going to want things to get worse than they clearly already are, so we might be calling in Pidge and Hunk soon. As for Shiro..." Keith blew out a breath. "He may want to talk to you. One at a time, most likely. He's got a lot he wants to know and not a lot of time. Don't damage him."

Ezor thought about it. "...He's going to ask us Galra Relationships 101, isn't he."

"Probably," said Keith, who was seriously reconsidering caring _how_ Shiro got a clue as long as Clue was obtained. "Unless someone's already told him, which...I actually hope hasn't happened because that'd mean he talked to my mother and this is weird enough by human standards. So you'll all get your chance to do what you think you need to. Just, don't _damage_ him."

~*~

The afternoon was...semi-productive. Shiro wasn't sure how you graded prgress with _psychic abilities_ , but things hadn't gone as well as Lance had hoped. The best that could be said was that it hadn't been a complete waste of time.

"I don't think I'd normally be psychic, Lance," said Shiro, taking a break. "It doesn't seem to work well for me."

"Honestly, I'm guessing it's more that you're differently psychic," sighed Lance, who seemed to need a break just as much. "We already know alteans and galra sense things differently. Why would humans be like either?"

"But both you and Keith are at least half human," said Shiro. "Is _all_ your ability from the other side?"

"I doubt it," said Lance bluntly. "But we're pretty different people and always have been. I'm sure about you though. You connected to your lion before any of the rest of us. You saw through Black's eyes almost at day one. You _knew_ we could recharge our Lions without the castleship, and you turned out to be right. You _knew_ about being able to call the Lions to us even when they were on entirely other planets. And you _knew_ a lot of this stuff even when you didn't have a connection to any of the Lions directly yourself. So - have a little faith in yourself here, okay? I'm willing to bet that it's just that you've never needed it. You _needed_ the Lions - and you _wanted_ it."

"True enough," said Shiro, trying not to sound sad about it. Because he _had_ wanted it, and he missed it - apparently more than anyone else did.

Lance gave him a sort of knowing look that suggested he knew, and wasn't going to make it worse by going on about it further. "...The way you connected to Black," he said. "Use that same...feeling. Try to connect to Allura. Just one more time? And we'll call it a day."

He _could_ , very faintly, and if he focused very hard, sort of sense that they weren't alone in the room. It felt like straining to hear a mouse skitter on the other side of a house. And maybe it was thinking of it like _hearing_ that got the result, because all at once he heard, with tired aggravation, Allura's voice saying, _"Why are you so absolutely certain that humans have quintessence sensitivity? Based on, I have to say, no evidence at all?"_

And he turned his head to where he could hear the voice, and said, "You should give Lance a little more credit. But it seems we're equally at fault there."

Lance burst out laughing, the joyous laughter of a man who'd won the lottery. "Hell yes! But you just proved we're not out of the race yet. _Thank you_ , Shiro!"

~*~

Shiro wasn't familiar with the consoles as such, but Hunk's designs were recognizably intuitive. He made sure of the relative time - midafternoon, there - and called the clinic. He didn't recognize the doctor who answered save in a vague way, but he introduced himself as "Schlessinger" and, after peering at the screen, said, "Oh, it's you. I'll get Merisan," and disappeared.

Merisan's scarred face appeared on the screen a few moments later. "Good afternoon, Mr. Shirogane. I trust that this method of communication means it is _not_ an emergency?"

"No," said Shiro. "Just...it's been a really busy day and I wanted to talk with someone about it before I tried sleeping on it."

Merisan seemed to study Shiro's face. "Someone whose feelings would not be hurt," he surmised. "Certainly, Mr. Shirogane. How has your trip progressed thus far?"

Shiro absently ran a hand through his hair - the prosthetic one, though he didn't notice until the fingers touched his scalp. " _Busy_ ," he exhaled. "Really...really busy. I don't even know where to start with all the information."

Merisan nodded thoughtfully. "Then let us begin with your current state. How do you feel?"

"That's the weirdest thing," said Shiro. "Energized. I mean, also tired, but...energized. Like finishing a long hike or something like that. Why is it different?"

"I would need more information to be even reasonably conclusive, Mr. Shirogane," said Merisan, and there was a note of chiding there. "But in the most general sense...all problems are not equal to the mind, nor are all situations. You must ask yourself what was different about visiting the Garrison, what was there that is not with you now. " He paused. "Situationally, that is. I would not imply that the Green Paladin herself had anything to do with your setback."

Shiro thought about it, and nodded. The day had been very busy, but - generals aside - he'd really spent it only with people he already knew fairly well, and problems that concerned the small group of paladins. Whereas Pidge had put him in the middle of a very large interplanetary sociopolitical tangle, and a lot of people he knew far less well. "I see. That makes sense."

"If I may ask," said Merisan, "How do you find your interactions with your fellows?"

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck. "A mess," he admitted. "Keith's...doing what I vaguely remember actually _telling_ him to do, except now I'm trying to figure out how to tell him to stop without it going too far in other directions. Lance had great news and very strange news and seems to be doing okay. And ...details would have you at that console all night, I'm afraid."

Merisan gave a dismissive wave. "I am at your disposal, Mr. Shirogane," he said. "The relevant question is whether it helps you to discuss it." He paused. "What is it you would like Keith to stop doing? He has impressed us as a quite literal sort on the whole."

"Acting like he doesn't know me," Shiro sighed. "And I mean - maybe he doesn't. I'm not sure _I_ do, right now. But when I asked him to do that I'd forgotten how he is with people he doesn't know."

Merisan ah'd. "Perhaps the way to 'tell' him is to perform those social rituals we use when we are trying to get to know someone," he said. "Ask questions. Spend time observing, listening. Share activities. That sort of thing. Do you feel that would be too subtle?"

Shiro blinked at the screen. "You're really very good at politely asking me if I've tried the obvious solution yet," he said. "Without being condescending about it. Which is good, because I hadn't, although...it feels like I would have, once."

"Do not take it badly, Mr. Shirogane," said Merisan mildly. "You were an extrovert once, and have been required to spend a long time in introspection. What once was second nature now is being re-learned, to incorporate what you have gained in the interim."

"Thanks," said Shiro, a touch dryly. "I'll...go for now, I think. I have a lot to think about and somewhere in there I'm probably supposed to get some sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For when Shiro told Keith about the morality of decisionmaking, plz go back to Chapter 20.


	37. ...We Have Cookies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith should know better than to make wishes. Shiro should probably make wishes more often.

Kosmo slept in Keith's room, which Keith took as Kosmo declaring that Keith required displays of friendship or pack bond unity, or possibly that Kosmo was making sure Keith didn't do anything stupid.

It didn't really matter what the wolf's motives were. He was just glad the wolf was there. There was no possible way to feel alone or abandoned with a warm, bear-sized furry body gluing itself to you. And so he slept rather well, really, though his dreams had that strange clarity that tended to happen when he slept next to the wolf. Dreams of hunting across worlds, bouncing via teleport from island to island, seeking an unknown _something_ with infinite patience.

As he shook off the dream, he considered that maybe it wasn't a dream. All the work they'd been doing, with their blades, with Lance. He'd never really questioned Kosmo's presence, or the whys of the wolf's existence. He'd met stranger beings, he thought, than a big teleporting space wolf. They'd usually been _bad_ things, but Kosmo was very much the exception. His fingers ran through the dozing wolf's fur, absently petting. His friend, he could say without any hesitation. Friend, companion. Crewmate, currently. Kosmo did what he could to help the crew. One day, perhaps, the wolf would grow too big to want to stay, and would bound off between the stars on his own, seeking a new pack or a mate. He couldn't yet travel interstellar, though. So there was probably a lot of time before then.

Which was good. Kosmo was a patient being, on the whole. He didn't get ruffled just because Keith was upset. He didn't seem to need reassurances beyond those small acts of affection or companionship he already got. A good, drama-free friend was just right.

As Keith got to his feet to shower (Ezor's taunts about 'smelling doggy' tended to be pointed if he spent too long in Kosmo's company without one) the huge wolf rolled onto his back, limbs splayed in the ultimate canine display of utter relaxed safety and comfort. And tried not to chuckle too loudly as the wolf's snores filled the room.

~*~

_"I'd like to talk to you,"_ said Allura's disembodied voice in the dark.

Shiro had been trying to sleep. The room really was very comfortable if he didn't look at it too closely, and in the dark it was almost a nest for the mind. Except that now he was being talked to by an invisible Allura who wasn't paying much attention to basic privacy issues. Still, the quick mental inventory he was getting in the habit of doing suggested this wasn't going to lead to hours of gibbering in a corner, so he said, "I'm not exactly dressed, but I suppose the blankets will do. What's on your mind?"

_"Lance means well,"_ said Allura in the dark. _"But he's misguided. I need the power I've got. This reality is in constant danger. Voltron wasn't the answer. Voltron was a weapon and everyone just wanted to make a weapon that could beat it, or take control of it."_

"I'm listening," said Shiro, and managed to keep any hint of _not that I seem to have much choice_ out of his tone. "You didn't change him so you could come back?"

_"I do intend to come back, someday,"_ said Allura. _"And I wanted to always be with him. I'm just not sure that's possible."_

"Well. You've saved your entire species, and restored whole worlds to life," said Shiro slowly. "So I can see why Lance would have trouble believing this is where your limits are."

_"I can do what I've done because of where I am,"_ said Allura. _"Think of it like a lever and fulcrum. Apply pressure near the fulcrum, and it takes a lot to move the lever. Apply pressure far from the fulcrum, and you can use the lever to lift much more than you'd otherwise be able to. From where I am, I can protect the universe. If he pulls me back here, I can't."_

"Mmm." Shiro closed his eyes. It wasn't like they were doing him any good at the moment anyway, and he _was_ tired. "What if you had help, though?" he asked. "The protection of the universe shouldn't be just your job alone, Allura. You've saved Altean mystics. Now we know other races have a little mystic to them too. What if we built a new Oriande, one that could teach all the mystics of all the races?"

" _Honerva and my father were both skilled alchemists,_ " Allura pointed out. _"It caused more problems, and more lasting problems, than it solved."_

"And if you're corrupted?" asked Shiro. "I remember you telling me about the room Lotor took you to once, with all of Honerva's gathered artifacts. Where you found the stone that led us to Oriande. Honerva's logs were there. A completely different person, over time, with the corruption."

_"There's no reason to think that would happen to me,"_ said Allura firmly.

"The Allura I knew would never have hurt Lance like that," said Shiro. "And she certainly wouldn't have done it over something _someone else_ said."

_"You're not listening to me,"_ said Allura, her voice getting angrier. _"You need to stop this."_

"I am listening, Allura," said Shiro. "I'm just not agreeing. The more you have to say the more I'm thinking Lance is right to be worried about you. And maybe you are able to protect the universe singlehandedly, from where you are. But if you end up as corrupted as Zarkon and Haggar, that's not going to be much help to anyone."

For a moment, he thought she might attack him the way she'd attacked Lance. Instead, the room went silent. Allura had left.

Or so he thought.

When Shiro went back to sleep - not hard, once the room was quiet again - he dreamed vivid dreams. Dreams of ancient days, of Zarkon and Honerva and the arrival of the comet, and the fall of Daibazaal and Altea. He watched Zarkon's panic at Honerva's illness, his deception of the paladins, and the wave of darkness.

Allura's voice whispered: _The only thing more dangerous than a galra's hate is a galra's love._

~*~

Lance rose with the sun, because the way the castleship was placed, combined with long habit, didn't really leave him much choice. The palace was pretty quiet now that the Queen and her daughter were off to Earth, and probably Altea after that. He gave it maybe a week before they commissioned a worthy-of-royalty set of ships from Hunk, since _this_ castleship might work but was pretty well rooted into the local power grid. The servants were always quiet and kind of shy; he'd seen them - both male and female - duck behind doors if he so much as smiled at them, but they were attentive, oh yes. They'd apparently worked out which fruits he liked best just by seeing what was left behind on the breakfast tray, and the same went for juices and everything else.

There was a time he'd have taken advantage of such worship. Living like a rock star, as he'd thought at the time. He didn't have the heart to, anymore. It meant a lot to _them_ that a Paladin of Voltron was with them, the least he could do was try to actually act like one. It was so much better than the times you got people who wouldn't believe it until you'd got Voltron literally standing on their lawn, even if you'd just kicked the butts of an entire fleet for them. He'd learned to take the wins as they came; they made everything else so much more bearable.

He'd told Shiro he needed time to medidate these days, and this was true. What he hadn't discussed was his method; usually walking around a flower garden, focusing on what had bloomed, what hadn't, the scents on the breeze, the sound of the birds. He meditated not by emptying the mind but by doing his best to live in the moment, absolutely in the moment, without thinking about the past or worrying about the future. The Trebian palace had extensive and well loved gardens, and it would be weeks yet before he knew all the paths. 

When the great castle flower clock said clearly he'd been doing so for an hour or more, he headed off into the city for his Lessons in Quintessence.

~*~

By the time the generals were collectively awake and functional, Keith had had time to grab breakfast and check the console for messages, as well as update the clinic, Pidge, and Hunk on events and get some updates in return. He was going through the crystal relay's news from Earth when they found him.

"What's the plan today, boss?" asked Ezor.

"Wait for Shiro, I think," said Keith. "Queen Orla's causing a kind of political firestorm on Earth - nothing we need to be worried about, but Kolivan's paying attention. Alteans when there were literally only a handful left in the universe were one thing; a whole planet full right next door seems to be spooking the humans."

"Not good," said Acxa, shaking her head. "That means an arms race, doesn't it?"

Keith smiled. "Yeah. Caught up on your reading, I take it."

Ezor and Zethrid were giving Acxa blank stares, so she clarified. "Humans don't feel safe unless they're at the top of their food chain. Humans that feel safe are friendly. Humans that think they have something to prove aren't. Humans didn't think of Alteans as a threat at first, because even though Altean engineering is far superior to most human works, there weren't many of them and they shared freely. Alteans as a separate, independent, and well-developed nation is a very different thing. Humans now have something to prove. Specifically, they have to prove to themselves that if they _need_ to beat Trebi in battle, they _can_."

Zethrid blinked. "....Humans are fucking _neurotic_ ," she grumbled. "If you want to fight, fight!"

"Mostly they can't," said Keith. "It's...seen as primitive. Uncivilized." He made a face. "Anyway. The point boils down to, they won't start a fight unless they can come up with a scenario where it's self defense somehow. But they're going to try to make sure that if they do that, they can win."

"Well. That at least makes some sense," shrugged Ezor. "No point starting a war if you're just going to lose it."

"So Pidge and Hunk are both pinned down for now," Keith finished. "Pidge can't come because the Garrison is now clear that Trebi will be an interstellar power in a few decaphoebs. They just needed crystals, and the balmera are already on their way. The Garrison has shoved her Voltron-2 project into overdrive and she's got to keep it on the rails. Hunk's busy dealing with the shakeup all this is causing on Altea - do they want to join Trebi, or stay independent - and he's also keeping a close eye on the balmera communities, because if there's an arms race in the offing then someone's going to get the bright idea of trying to control the crystal supply at the source."

"And Kolivan?" asked Acxa quietly. "Where do the Blades stand?"

"In the shadows," said Keith. "He's got agents watching pretty much everyone right now. The galra can't step in on any of this overtly, or pretty much all the players would unite against us. The Empire can't survive that kind of attention; we've pretty much got exactly enough ships to defend what we still hold, but even that is tricky. Kolivan's sure that if Earth attacks it will go for the quintessence supply - they really, really want to control sources for themselves but haven't yet worked out how to, so stealing galra designs would be a good shortcut. Pidge doesn't want Earth to have that data yet because she's pretty sure they'd abuse it as much or worse than Zarkon did, maybe as much as Lotor did, but defending the plants from an assault would be a big strain. Especially if they allied with Trebi, and Trebi would go for the shipyards. They'd go for our offensive capability. We could hold off either one alone, but both would take us out."

All three generals were quiet for a bit, before Acxa said, "So we're waiting."

Keith nodded. "We hold here. We keep the Janus out of sight, out of mind for the locals. Maybe try _not_ to get thrown out of restaurants. See what we can do, but without Pidge and Hunk we can't really try to pull Allura out of the place she's in."

At mention of Allura, all the generals drew their blades to check them. No flashing. Acxa and Zethrid sheathed theirs; Ezor kept hers out. "We need to have Blades among other races," said Acxa. "We can't keep the peace alone."

Ezor toyed with her knife. "That's...actually not a bad idea," she said. "Can we do that?"

"Do what?" asked Shiro from the doorway. 

The three generals shut their mouths, leaving it to Keith, who said, "Save the world. The usual. Sleep all right?" 

The question, Shiro understood, was intended to be polite; he _hadn't_ had a great night, thanks to Allura, but Keith was giving him the option not to talk about it. As he was in not discussing whatever topic Shiro had walked in on, just classifying it in terms of category of involvement. A way of saying 'it's big stuff you may not be up to dealing with', without saying so directly.

_Does he think we're as weak as all that?_ grumbled the second soul.   
_Ask if you want, but bear in mind if he answers we're going to flatten ourselves for no good reason. One thing at a time._

On that note, though, Shiro decided on honesty on his end. "Not really," he admitted. "Allura's apparently wanted people to talk to for a while."

The glance everyone else in the room spared for Ezor's blade was not mistakable. Shiro looked too, but it wasn't flashing.

"If you want to take it easy today," said Keith, "It will be all right. Lance is with his class of mystics. He's still learning too, but he said the group has a problem believing humans can study alchemy."

"I might," Shiro admitted. "There's a lot to process. Has Allura or Lance told you anything about how Zarkon and Haggar became the way...well, the way they became?"

"No," said Keith. "But I can guess, based on what Coran said, and what Zarkon said and did when we were in Haggar's memories." He could; the generals clearly couldn't. They gave Keith puzzled looks, so Keith added, "Honerva was Zarkon's mate, wasn't she. He was trying to save her, and didn't think about the danger."

Ezor blinked, a little 'oh' face that suggested she was putting this into context. Zethrid growled low in her throat, looking down. But Acxa looked at Shiro. "She is warning you away," she said flatly. 

Keith looked at Acxa, nodded slightly, and then said to Shiro, "You don't need to worry. Zarkon was an emperor before he ever met Honerva. I doubt the man had ever been told 'no' in his life, not in a way that would stick. And you're nothing like Honerva." He turned away to face the secure console.

So...quiet. So calm. Allura had tried to set Shiro against Keith, with a vision of something Keith had clearly already thought about. Thought a _lot_ about. "...You brought me back from death once already," he said, testing the water. He watched Keith's shoulders slump a bit; Keith had been expecting that shot.

"We hadn't discussed any line and you didn't seem to want to stay trapped in the Lion," said Keith flatly. "I didn't think of you as dead because you were right there. Your body was breathing and it was also right there. I realize that doesn't actually matter, but I didn't know that then. Tell me now, or at any time, where you want that line to be and I will honor it."

It had to be costing Keith to stay calm, detached. Shiro saw it in the generals - Zethrid's low growl, the way Ezor was looking anywhere but at the two of them, the way Acxa was looking right _at_ him as if daring him to push too far.

_The question is_ can _he?_ asked the second soul. _Zarkon didn't seem to think about it at all in the vision. Problem, solution, go. Just like Keith smashing us together.  
And he's paid for it,_ Shiro understood. _Every day since. Zarkon didn't get that warning.  
Paid for it,_ echoed the other. _Paid how?  
We've resented him for it,_ thought Shiro. _Hated him for it. That's the last thing he wanted.  
But would he have chosen differently if he'd known?  
Not then,_ Shiro thought. _For the reasons he just told us. But if the choice happened again? I think he's telling the truth now._

The silence outside his head was stretching out; Ezor had taken Zethrid's big hands in hers, reassuring her, keeping her steady. Acxa was still as a statue. Keith was focused - apparently - on the console in front of him. It was up to Shiro to say something, anything, to set things in motion again.

"I'm sorry," said Shiro, and the words breathed around the room like a newly opened bag of time, seconds flowing into the stasis. "I know you would, Keith. I'll give it proper thought, because I think 'don't take me into the quintessence field' is probably a given. In the meantime...I trust you." There was a twitch, a little shudder, to Keith's shoulder blades, and the moment passed. Shiro decided to move things again with, "Allura clearly doesn't, and doesn't want me to. I think you - that is, all four of you - are making her worry."

"The feeling's totally mutual," said Ezor, a touch fiercely. She hadn't let go of Zethrid's hands yet. "We need to talk to Lance about doing more warding in that room if Allura's going to come in there to give you bad dreams like that."

Shiro blinked. "My room is warded?"

"Lance used the same kind of alchemy he used on the gardens his family has built on Earth," said Keith, not turning around. "So you could be safe, and relax, even on a galra cruiser. It's supposed to keep people with hostile intent from entering, or wanting to stay."

Shiro thought about it. "Then I think it's working," he decided. "I made her angry. She didn't attack - she disappeared. And she's not here now."

"We need to sort out what to do about her," said Keith quietly. "We can't call Hunk or Pidge in right now to help. There's just us, and Lance. How changed do you think she is?"

Zethrid scooped Ezor up onto her lap, arms around her like a big protective shield, but she was paying attention now. So were the others.

"I think Lance is underestimating how far she's gone," said Shiro. "Could be love, could just be that it's probably been very gradual. Or both. But she's a lot more paranoid than you'd remember, or that I remember her being. She thinks she needs the mote, and won't consider the idea that maybe the universe's safety needs people, plural, and not one powerful being. Or that she might not be much of a protector if the mote continues to corrupt her."

"Mmm," said Keith, finally turning back to face Shiro as if nothing had happened. "Which people, Shiro? Everyone seems to end up corrupted sooner or later."

"I'm guessing it's not a coincidence that your blades can sense Allura, and hurt the motes," said Shiro. "So if luxite works for galra, maybe we can find something that works for humans, and alteans. Every race can be corrupted - but every race has good people too, who can be trained. We can teach people what to look for, how to fight it. We need to pull that mote out of Allura or the goddess we'll have won't be a good one. But if we can't get her back there then we need a backup plan."

Acxa gave Shiro a surprised look, and Keith smiled a small but genuinely amused smile. "I told you he's smart," he said to Acxa.

While Shiro blinked, he didn't have long to wonder. Acxa said, "That is what we were discussing when you came in. Finding a way to bring other races into the Blades."

"World saving stuff," said Keith, and Shiro recognized the dry humor as the conversation finished circling back to its start.

Shiro nodded. "I see. I'm going to grab breakfast, if it isn't goo, and...retreat to my room for a bit, I think. Now that I have more context."

"Hunk put in a kind of automatic chef thing," said Keith. "It isn't as good as Hunk is, but it's better than goo. Not instant though. Push the buttons and wait fifteen minutes."

"Go and show him," Acxa advised. "The controls are in galra anyway."

Keith slanted a look at her that Shiro recognized as _are you plotting something_ , but she probably wasn't. Not beyond the surface anyway. "All right," he agreed. "It's this way, Shiro."

~*~

The mess hall of a galra cruiser was far smaller than it would be on a similarly-sized human vessel, mainly because most of the lower-rank work was carried out by sentry bots. It did not as a normal thing have tables or chairs, because the food was goo and served in disposable thin plastic packets, easily torn into by fangs. You walked in, got your serving, ate it, disposed of the packet, and walked out - often in five minutes or less.

Hunk had declared this a crime against sapientkind and Not On My Watch Buddy within ten seconds of seeing it. He'd promptly thrown all four blades off the ship and told them to come back in four quintants and not set foot on it a tick sooner. While Zethrid had considered getting violently territorial, Keith had made sure they obeyed.

The result was what Shiro now walked into. Although the color scheme matched the rest of the cruiser - dark maroons and purples, with pale blues and greens for highlights - it could almost have been a den on the castleship. There were tables. There were cushioned chairs of several sizes, ranging from 'Keith or Ezor sized' through 'Zethrid sized', scattered about for grabbing as needed. The lighting was galra-dim but well placed so that eyes that needed more light had it where it was most essential, and a few brighter spots in the corners had actual growing green plants to freshen the air. Along one wall was a tray rail, with cups and sporks and plates, and a console at which one could place an order for basic dishes from a dozen worlds. Earth was one of them, although the fare was clearly aimed with Keith's specific tastes in mind. Keith walked him through identifying the options, and said, "Hunk said he couldn't program a lot of variety because the rest of the mess hall is a cold storage where the ingredients are kept until they're needed. But we could all have something we liked. I think he may have improved the system since this one. This one was kind of a prototype, but it's just the five of us so it works just fine."

Shiro was reminded, again, that Keith's background was that of someone perpetually broke, perpetually moving. This meant that Keith's idea of a basic sustaining meal was fast food off the dollar menu or third rate food carts or the odd all-you-can-eat diner. Keith could subsist indefinitely - and happily - on ramen, thirty-five-cent powdered macaroni and cheese and fried spam. Hunk clearly greatly valued Keith's friendship to be willing to program an automat to recreate broke food; most of the 'earth' selection seemed to be that. Shiro chose the settings that Hunk had probably left there so _he_ wouldn't be required to eat it when he visited, and came away with some variety of breakfast burrito and coffee. When Keith moved to leave him to it, Shiro said, "Stay. Please."

Keith paused, watching him with that closed off expression. "You need something?"

"Just to talk," said Shiro. "Sit?"

Keith got a cup, got coffee for himself, came to sit opposite Shiro. And waited.

Shiro wasn't sure how to start, so he started on his breakfast while he thought about it. "...I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

He should have expected Keith's response to be wariness - waiting for the bad news. "What for?"

Shiro took a deep breath. He really did need to do this. "For how I treated you," he began. "For how I've _been_ treating you since...since that mission in the Ulippa system. There were a lot of ...factors in play, between then and now. But none of them had to do with you, or how you led the team. I know I made it sound as though it did, but - well. There's long stories all around and the short version is it wasn't your fault. I hurt you, and I'm sorry."

Keith's eyes widened, and he froze for a moment as if Shiro had slapped him - and not gently, either. The closed off mask slipped in that moment and Shiro saw a deep, raw pain in that face, and the rage of a wounded and cornered animal almost driven mad by it. There was a sound, quickly choked off, that could have been a growl. And then the mask was back in place and he set the coffee down with the sort of deliberate care of one ordering his arms, second by second, not to shatter, not to throw. In that very calm, very focused voice, Keith said only, "And what, exactly, does that change?" before getting up and walking out.

Shiro blew out a breath, and took ownership of the abandoned coffee, and finished his breakfast. He hadn't _really_ expected anything else. Keith wasn't a words kind of man. Actions were what mattered. But when he thought about the pain he'd seen in Keith's face he was reminded of what Dr. Merisan had told him about psychological injuries, and wondered just how deeply those wounds went and how many of them he'd caused. Not out of a sense of obligation - if nothing else, his time with the doctors had taught him how little he really knew about how to go about treating such injuries. But simply because ...here was a good man in pain, and there had to be something that could help.

~*~

The instincts of a galra in pain were to lash out, as a predator, knowing other predators would be coming to the smell of blood. Keith found himself trying to throttle a desire to set fire to whole worlds. This was the pain that Zarkon had used to turn the entire race into a war machine. Grief over losing their home planet and loyalty to their leader created a bloody massacre that spanned thousands of years, thousands of light years. But he could not. It was not right. It was not _allowed_. If there was ever going to be a better way then it had to be so.

He _apologized_. As if years of doubt and second guessing and being second guessed by everyone else and held to a standard he'd told everyone at the _outset_ couldn't be met could be dealt with by an _apology_. As if marrying someone else could be erased with an _apology_.

Keith wasn't sure which of the generals spotted him in the corridor because she turned and bolted quickly, and got the other two. "Cargo deck," said Acxa. "Now."

He understood. It wasn't the first time they'd had an afternoon free-for-all 'sparring session'. Sooner or later they'd have to get a really good training deck, with particularly indestructible training robots. For now, the generals would tag team him until the fury had burned itself out and he could think again.

~*~

Shiro left the mess hall area to find that the galra had taken off for somewhere. At least, they weren't in any of the places they logically should have been. While wandering around, Kosmo bounded up to him. Given the wolf's size, he also nearly bodyslammed Shiro into the corridor wall, but he did appear contrite about it.

"So. Do you know where everyone is?" Shiro asked the wolf, and got a big lick on his hand. "Okay, that's probably a yes. Would you take me to them?" The wolf didn't growl, or lick, or bite, but did watch. "So...no?" he guessed, and got a forward earflick. So...they were doing something that Kosmo didn't want to disturb, for whatever reason. "All right...could you take me down to the planet, then? We could walk to wherever Lance is?"

That got the wolf to whump him against the corridor wall - which abruptly vanished, and Shiro landed on his ass on a nicely manicured park lawn, on Trebi's surface. "Uh. Thanks," he said, wondering if the whump had been strictly necessary. Getting to his feet, he brushed himself off. "So. Walking now, taking our time, where would Lance be?"

The wolf turned, sniffed the air, and set off at a very gentle pace, letting Shiro walk to keep up. The wolf was unusually considerate, really. He stuck to the park's paths for the most part, staying by Shiro's side as if there were some invisible leash. But that might be for the benefit of the Trebians, too, who clearly had not yet adapted to a huge black-and-blue cosmic wolf padding around their footpaths. But Kosmo could pretend to be an overly large dog at times, or at least he seemed to be very good at projecting friendliness when he wanted to.

"Keith could learn a few things from you," Shiro mused. "He's never been all that good at making friends."

Kosmo turned his huge head to stare briefly at Shiro, one ear flicking back a bit.

"I just mean...nobody's afraid of you," Shiro explained. "You're huge, with big teeth and claws and they probably _should_ be a bit worried, but they're not. Keith worries people even when he's smaller than they are."

The wolf gave a brief _whuff_ of deep sound - not really a bark, more a disgruntled sigh - and kept walking. Out of the park and into the streets, which were more for pedestrians than vehicles. Shiro's Altean wasn't awful - like the other paladins, living on board the castleship for years with _everything_ written in Altean had given him time to pick up the basics - but he honestly understood more from how the signs were designed than what they said. Trebians had borrowed or possibly just absorbed quite a lot of Earth culture, though they'd done their own thing with it. Shiro could see in the shop windows they walked past, any number of Earth-like things that weren't quite being used as intended. And the Trebians had, apparently, zero grasp of or respect for nationality; neko luck statues were right by croissants and Russian nesting dolls. Shirts had slogans in English, French, presumably Russian, Mandarin, Thai, and a few languages Shiro couldn't actually place. It seemed to be more about how the words could be made into art than what the words actually were, so Shiro wasn't at all surprised that there was almost a fetish going on for things inscribed in Arabic.

Kosmo didn't find much of any of the things interesting; the wolf paid attention to their route, and the people along the way, with Shiro's prosthetic hand on the wolf as a kind of paying-attention-to-the-road dog. So it was really a good thing Lance said, "Oh hey! Hi, Shiro!" in time for him to bring his attention back to not-walking-into-people. 

Shiro smiled. "Hey," he said. "Class let out, then?"

"Yeah," said Lance. "I'm honestly hoping the queen hits it off on Earth. I'd really rather get a good tutor or two and bring them back home with me. Trebi's nice, but I don't like being away from family too long. What brings you down to the planet? Keith being boring? Ship being creepy?"

"Neither, really," said Shiro. "Although Allura did send me some very vivid dreams about Zarkon and Haggar."

Lance winced. "She showed me those too. Dunno if she's showed Keith yet."

"I'm kind of thinking she won't," Shiro mused. "She seems to think he's part of the problem. In a few days I suspect she'll be thinking the same thing about me."

Lance frowned. "Why? She's kinda been hard on the galra, but you're not galra."

"Because I think you're right about the mote affecting her mind," said Shiro. "I know I haven't been here long, but...nothing I've seen or heard matches who she was the last time I saw her. Though I don't know how much help I can be to you."

"You can bring everyone in," said Lance. "Pidge and Hunk...and you can make her stop when she goes too far. That's more than I can do, or Keith."

"That...doesn't seem right," said Shiro. "You're her boyfriend. Keith was her CO. Why _me_?"

"Because she knows I don't want to hurt her," said Lance. "And I don't. I really don't. And Keith won't put his foot down the way you did yesterday because he knows he's on thin galra ice with her as it is. He told me he can't make himself be just another galra to her, even if it's something she needs to hear."

Shiro's expression clearly said that at first he thought Lance was joking. When he realized this wasn't a joke he said, "...You can't run a team like that."

Lance spread his hands. "You talk to him about it, then. He's promised to help me and I'm grateful for that. Really. That knife of his can save us a lot of trouble. But I'm glad to have you, too, because we need someone that can take the lead here." 

Lance started walking again, and Shiro and Kosmo walked beside him in the vague hope that Lance knew where he was going.

~*~

Keith could think again, but wasn't entirely sure that was a good idea either.

All four of them had gotten fairly banged up in the course of 'reduce the temperfit' sparring, which Acxa took as normal and Zethrid took as 'warmup to pouncing Ezor' and Ezor seemed to regard as 'something galra do that can occasionally be amusing' but when it led to pouncing was perfectly okay. And so the four had dispersed to three separate rooms to shower, and/or pounce.

Once properly clean, Keith spent a while carefully cleaning up the bruises and other visible damage, because as far as he was concerned he'd behaved badly enough today as it was. Minor injuries could be easily and quickly treated with a skin cream that contained trace amounts of quintessence. He didn't generally have cause to use it, but it seemed a good idea. 

Then again, a lot of ideas were floating around his mind and he wasn't sure how many of them were actually 'good' ones. His Blade he kept out, and kept one eye on at all times. He wasn't sure what was up with Allura, but he was fairly sure she wasn't done with him. He tasted blood in his mouth and checked the mirror, expecting maybe cut gums, loose teeth. They hadn't exactly held back. 

Tiny fangs. Figured. His mother _had_ told him to expect more galra-like features as he got older. But he could change it, and she couldn't. Keith stared at the mirror, thinking _human_ at it. That seemed to work for his skin, or eyes, but the fangs - tiny as they were, he'd seen humans with as much - stayed put. Well. Even Allura never seemed able to change her hair, maybe the bone of teeth was the same way? No. That wasn't right. She'd changed her height. So bone had to be changeable too. He just needed to...

...be more human? Was there really a point? He'd never been happy on Earth, not after his dad died, until Shiro had found him. And those days were gone and weren't ever coming back. And the bond he'd given Shiro without knowing what he'd done or what it meant - surely it had served its purpose. Shiro wasn't diving into life-threatening danger anymore. He didn't _need_ anyone to pull his ass out of gigantic interstellar bonfires he'd leapt into on principle. He'd married Curtis as an escape, but he'd dealt with his demons now. He didn't need protecting. He even seemed to be able to pace himself in this whole recovery thing, which Keith really wouldn't have believed possible if he hadn't been seeing it firsthand. Shiro genuinely didn't need him anymore...and that was a good thing, it really was, but it meant Keith no longer had any handy excuses for keeping track of Shiro.

People who kept track of other people based entirely on 'but I want to' were stalkers. This much Keith had had explained to him already, by a few people in various types of uniforms. Keith really did not have much use for humans in uniforms as a general rule, but he knew Shiro did.

Keith put his hair back in its braid, tugged on clothes, wandered out to the observation deck where he could see Trebi's moon, the planet beyond, and the stars. He _liked_ outer space. (Not suffocating in outer space. Or floating without a jetpack in outer space. Or being stranded in outer space. But he figured you could be a sailor and still hate the idea of drowning or being becalmed or stranded adrift. So he could still like outer space the same way. You just had to respect that you loved being somewhere that could easily kill you.) Being alone with the light of stars, the drifting rivers of asteroids and light glittering on the dust of comets and nebulae...that was calming in a way the sea really wasn't. Somewhere out there the Lions waited with the patience of mountains to be needed.

Snarling at Shiro was unacceptable. He wasn't entirely sure what the right response should have been, but snarling wasn't it. He didn't have a lot of experience with being apologized to, but that wasn't the root cause. The pain involved in having Shiro so close, so...so _shining_... and not being allowed to do anything that might acknowledge his feelings existed was ...it _really_ hurt, and it was reaching the point of clouding his judgment. _That_ was not acceptable. He had a crew. He had a duty, a mission. His tongue brushed the sharp tip of one of those baby fangs and he winced. _Had_ to be new or he wouldn't be doing stupid things like that. He studied his reflection in the window, considered filing the damn things down while they were small. Or at least blunting them. 

_Admiring yourself?_ Allura's voice was ...not in his ears. In his mind. Keith's hand dropped to his knife hilt. He looked around, until he could feel where she was.

"So I can hear you now?" he asked warily.

_No, I am making myself heard,_ said Allura. _As I do for Lance. He sees and hears me when I_ want _him to._

"I see," said Keith, still wary. "I can tell where you are. Do I get to see you too, now?"

_Not with your hand on that knife, you don't,_ said Allura firmly. _You honestly think I'm going to_ show _you where to stab?_

"...Fair," Keith decided, and did not withdraw his hand. "You think _I'm_ going to relax, after what you did to Lance? Knowing you don't like me anywhere near as much?"

_Fair,_ Allura echoed, and Keith did not much like the sound of her laughter. He'd heard gang bangers laugh like that, and warlords. There was adrenaline behind that laugh. Anticipation.

"You want something," said Keith, taking on the most obvious conclusion. "What is it?"

_A trade,_ said Allura. _I'll break that bond that's causing you trouble. You and Shiro stop backing this plan of Lance's. He has no idea how much trouble it will cause, for the whole universe, if he succeeds. Neither do you, frankly, but I can trade with you. Lance won't listen._

For a moment - "You can do that?" asked Keith. Shiro needed time, he knew that. "They've told me it can't be at this point."

_You've enjoyed yelling that Alteans don't know everything a lot lately,_ said Allura. _What makes you think the Galra do? I can break the bond for you. Heal you. Give you the time you want without pain or penalty. If you will give_ me _the time I need to finish my work._

"Your work," Keith echoed. "What _is_ your work? Why won't you let us help you with it? When did that start?" His hand didn't ever leave the hilt of his knife, although he didn't draw it. He knew where Allura was in the room, and ...this entire conversation felt wrong. Entirely wrong. _This_ was what Lance was having to deal with? By himself? No wonder he'd called.

_I'm not stopping you from helping me with it any more than I'm stopping a yalmor from writing plays about the pain of the human condition,_ said Allura. _I'm not asking you to help me because you can't. It's that simple._

Keith was not blind to the fact that she hadn't answered any of his other questions, but it wasn't as if he could make her. Not without crossing lines he didn't want to go near. "...What happened to Honerva, Allura?" he asked instead. "Is she dead?"

_She's....taken, Keith,_ and for the first time Allura actually sounded sad without any hint of condescension. _She'd been possessed too long, too fully._

"What do you mean?" asked Keith, sitting very very hard on that desire to pull his knife, because Allura was moving around the room, and so was her voice, forcing him to constantly turn to face her. "Zarkon was possessed just as long."

_Zarkon was alive when he was overtaken, and he died before her. We freed what was left of his soul. He's moved on. Honerva was more or less dead when overtaken. She used her powers more often and more ruthlessly, and she entered the nexus alive._

"Okay, but what does that _mean_ , Allura?" Keith insisted. "You want me to back off, but I've given Lance my word. So the only way forward is for you to give me enough to talk him out of it. Something I can explain." Which wasn't true - at this point Keith was thinking very hard about whether killing a god was possible, because it was really looking advisable, but he knew better than to say that.

He jumped back when Allura's voice sounded right in front of his face, and he could sense her stepping in so close that if she were physical the situation would have just gotten Awkward. _I'm saying that it's her intelligence driving the dark energy now. It's not mindless anymore. It's bound to_ her _. And I_ have _to be here to balance her._

"Don't do that!" snapped Keith, jumping back. "Just - stay PUT, would you?" The sense of what Allura was saying sank in. "Wait...the whole thing? That whole, entire...?"

_Yes. It's her, and Lotor. It ...devoured him._ She sounded sad about that, at least. And she was standing still. _And she wants to bring him back, but it will be a while. She and I are both...sort of learning the ropes. But her power is from the dark energy and it's only really able to corrupt and destroy._

"You've told Lance?" said Keith, wondering how much of this was true. It sounded pretty terrible. But if it was true, why resort to threats and bribes?

_He thinks he can help._

"But you don't," said Keith. "Even if he gets others to work with him."

_You don't have the ability._

Keith drew the knife, just a bit. "But we do have tools, Allura. You may want to think you're alone in this but you're not. And if you keep letting the dark thing mess with your head it's not going to be two people joined to it, it'll be three."

All of a sudden Allura's voice got a lot louder. Louder than jackhammers at five feet, louder than bombs exploding. _**YOU'RE NOT. LISTENING.**_ reverberated through Keith's skull hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

Allura departed, but it didn't make any difference. Keith was unconscious well before his body hit the deck.

~*~

Shiro enjoyed spending the afternoon with Kosmo and Lance, walking around the Trebian city. Lance was enjoying the learning experience he was having, and delighted to talk about all the things the Trebian mystics could do - among other things, Shiro was told, they could turn his hair properly black again. Heal the scar on his face if he wanted. They could change the colors of flowers or their own skin at will, though it was considered deeply improper to do such tricks to household pets. A lot of Trebian landscaping was kind of the reverse of what was done on Earth; on Earth, landscapers trimmed branches back until the right shape was reached. Trebians encouraged _growth_ toward the same end. Lance saw the same odd Earth-appropriation all around that Shiro did, but Lance found it amusing, even endearing.

They walked from park to park, until Lance said, "Do you think you're up to trying the plaza? Word'll get around, whatever the result. No pressure, but I do need to decide which turn to take next."

"Plaza," said Shiro. "The lion plaza you've mentioned. It doesn't hurt?"

"Shouldn't," said Lance. "Allura did this possession thing when I took the test, and rewired the test. The Trebians knew about Voltron, see, but none of them had ever seen the Lions up close. So they were sort of guessing at what made up the right qualities, how the tests should go. It'll be fine now, I'm sure of it."

Shiro looked down at Kosmo, who flicked an ear. Acknowledgment but not concern. "Okay," he said. "I guess let's do this, get it over with."

"The pain was kinda bad at first," said Lance. "So I'm told anyway. Keith changed color when he did it."

Shiro frowned. That would have been some intense pain, then, unless Keith was doing that more routinely now. But Lance was in motion, so Shiro followed him. The park was, as Lance had implied, the next on their route. And it seemed on the surface like all the other parks, really. Not as overtly manicured as Earth parks tended to be, because alteans seemed to appreciate color and flowers more than grass, but still very much a 'park', with people playing games and running around or walking or jogging along the paths.

The plaza was hexagonal, with pedestals on each of the sides, atop which sat big stone lions. So, Shiro mused, exactly what the name implied. Plaza, lions. He looked at Lance. "How do they know what the lions mean? They look the same."

"We think they used to be painted," Lance agreed. "But there was probably a forgetful king or queen in the last ten thousand years, and once the paint weathered away there wasn't much point trying to guess. The big thing for these people is that you're a paladin, or an alchemist. Or both." He pointed to a lion that looked like the others, but had a somewhat more elaborate base. "That one's the alchemy lion. It's the only one they'd ever seen move, before we came here. It means you're a mystic who _could_ , if Oriande still existed, go to Oriande. More practically it means they let you take classes. You set?"

Shiro nodded, thinking the lions really did look like the white lion he remembered trying to eat him once. "What do I do?"

"There's a little brass plaque set into the center," said Lance. "Stand on that, and wait."

Shiro noticed that Lance and Kosmo stayed put at a corner of the plaza, and that nobody else was walking into it - although he was starting to attract attention. Joggers and walkers were pausing, as he walked to the spot marked with the brass plaque. Unobtrusive, but curious, and it was spreading.

Oh well. Though - the attention was making him uneasy, the way walking around town hadn't. Deep breath. Stand still. Wait. "Uh. How long will this -"

_Presence_ flooded his mind, like but unlike the white lion. He remembered Black. That first flight, Coran's 'paladin training', seeing through Black's eyes. Flying a ship that loved to be flying just as much as he did. Powerful, protective. Wounded, as he'd been wounded. The approval of the Lion when he'd driven Zarkon's presence out. That horrible period where Black didn't want to recognize the second soul as worthy, and the _exaltation_ of earning the Lion's trust all over again. The Presence that had touched him one last time, flying without him, hovering over Altea to say goodbye. It was all pulled out, pulled to the front of his mind, and it brought tears to his eyes that he didn't try to hide. Damn, he _missed_ Black.

Something nudged at his hand and he opened his eyes to see the placid blank features of one of the stone lions nudging him for pets. As he reached out his prosthetic hand to do so, he realized there were two Lions. 

Two?

Shiro looked at the pedestals. The second lion was the Alchemist lion. He gave Lance a confused look - and gave up, because Lance was grinning with pride fit to burst.

~*~

Acxa knew to leave Keith be, once they'd worked the stress off. Such a...such a _cub_ , really, as if no other galra in the history of the universe had ever been where he was. As if the mistakes were new, and no one knew how to deal with them. She wasn't, honestly, worried about him as such. She didn't think Shiro was a good mate, but he wasn't a _bad_ one. He cared enough to keep Keith from driving himself crazy, at least. It would be a valuable learning experience for Keith in the future, not to give his bond lightly.

Acxa still thought about the last day she'd seen Lotor alive. He'd had her bond. And then...then he'd talked about destroying the empire, destroying the galra. And she knew that either way, she was on that list - that he would kill her, too. It hadn't broken the bond, of course, but it had let her choose, with the others, to stand back and let Voltron kill him for her. And it still hurt. It would probably always hurt. She'd been unwise, too willing to love the surface without looking beneath it. From pain came wisdom; that was always the galra way.

She was more sure of Keith, in terms of worthiness, but just as glad that she now knew his age because quiznak, cubs were a _handful_. Not least in their resolute insistence that they were not, in fact, cubs. He was sure, absolutely certain, that if he waited and was Good that Shiro would come around, and it was...such a cubling thing to think, really. Adorable, but very young. And now his temper was uncertain because the object of his affections was right there in reach, _affecting_ said affections, which had of course caught him by surprise, and she rather thought he would spend the afternoon somewhere quiet to think about things. That was one of the things she did like and appreciate about him; he made cubling mistakes, but he tried to learn from them. And usually, he did.

But when mealtime came and passed, and he wasn't on the bridge, or his quarters, she went looking. Of course he might be down on the planet, but that seemed unlikely. Acxa didn't think Keith would go near Shiro until he had a grip on his emotions. So keen to be Good, and all. So, section by section, Acxa searched the cruiser for her captain.

She had to get a grip on her _own_ temper when she opened the door to the observation deck and saw him sprawled on the ground in a small pool of blood. 

Her Blade was in her hands at once, lengthening to a rapier, and her pistol was drawn in her other hand. The symbol of Marmora did not flash, but if Allura was a goddess she could probably learn some way around that. Acxa cleared the room in proper military fashion, making sure there was _nothing_ in there beside Keith, before she holstered her pistol and went to his side, crouching down to examine him, turn him over. She was relieved to find the blood was just from a crunched nose - he'd landed on his face on hard decking. Keeping her rapier ready and its symbol in view, she checked his pulse. Slow, but steady. "System comm," she snapped aloud, activating the internal comm system. "Zethrid. Observation deck at once. Keep your Blade drawn." 

Depending on how long they'd been at it after the spar, Zethrid might need time to find her clothes and weapons. So Acxa settled down by Keith to wait, Blade drawn and watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I love and even _treasure_ that I've managed to write a fic that inspires such detailed analysis and thoughtful discussion in the comments. I love that, and I welcome it. But do try to stay polite to each other, okay? Let's try not to engage in bashing.


	38. Enjoy the...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's out for a while.

The first that Shiro or Lance knew of anything being wrong was Kosmo. The wolf had walked with them, paying attention but fairly neutral for most of the afternoon. As far as they could tell he was interested, and not bored, but that was as far as any deductions went. So Lance decided that maybe the two humans should try sensing Kosmo, the way Keith could. Or at least Kosmo's emotional state. Or at the very least his _existence_.

This didn't actually require Kosmo to do very much, and soon enough the wolf yawned, lay down on his belly with his head on his paws, and just watched Shiro and Lance discuss how they were trying this. The techniques they were attempting, and the results they (weren't) getting. And then, without warning (at least as far as Lance or Shiro were concerned) the wolf's ears perked up and he looked at the sky, where the moon was barely visible. The wolf didn't give either man any actual choice; he walked between them, so his big furry body touched both of them, and teleported them both to the ship. 

Ezor wasn't in uniform, as such, but with her Blade drawn and extended (a scimitar, it seemed, or maybe a saber) she couldn't be mistaken for anything else. And she was _not_ happy.

"What happened?" asked Lance. "Did the Trebians -"

"It's Allura, isn't it," said Shiro, and got a curt nod from Ezor.

"The other two are busy right now," she said. "We're pretty sure it was Allura. There aren't many races that could come onto this ship invisibly and none of them could get the drop on Keith by now. _I_ made sure of that. But we can't stop Allura doing whatever she wants to do."

Lance looked like he was on the wrong end of food poisoning with a side order of mugging. "What did she do?" he asked, almost a whisper, and clearly was afraid of the worst.

It was enough for Ezor to take pity on him. Without lowering her blade, which she kept in view of her good eye at all times, she put her other hand on Lance's shoulder. "He'll be okay," she said. "But lemme tell you she just torched a _lot_ of bridges."

Shiro expected to be numb, or angry, but really the vague news hadn't sunk in yet at all. "Can we see him?"

Ezor almost answered, then shrugged and shook her head. "Hell if I know," she admitted. "You're no problem, you're his mate even if you _are_ completely clueless. But prettyboy -"

"I can heal," Lance interjected firmly. "It's like - most of what the mystics have been showing me. You _know_ that, you've been helping. Let me take a look."

"Yeah, I know," said Ezor. "This is a loyalty thing, okay? Acxa and Zethrid can get really intense about loyalty. More than I do. And you, prettyboy, are on Allura's side if there are sides happening. So ...let's just not assume anything just yet, okay? And keep an eye on our blades, both of you. If she's got any sense she won't be back so soon, but hey, who knows, maybe she's out of sense."

She led the way and the two men followed - Lance looking like he was now living a worst-case scenario from his nightmares, and Shiro...not sure he was there at all. He kept waiting to feel something. Shock, maybe. Anger. Concern. _Something_. But if it felt like anything it felt like that day when Zethrid had Keith pinned and a gun pointed at his, Shiro's, head. That hadn't felt entirely real either. 

Zethrid stood outside a door that was presumably Keith's by its location - the captain's quarters. Her Blade was also extended - a pirate's cutlass, sized for her, which meant its violet blade was easily as broad as either man's skull. She was growling under her breath like she was just _daring_ Allura to make herself known. When she saw Acxa she snarled, "Why'd you call them in? They can't do anything."

Lance closed his eyes, pained. Shiro frowned. "Doesn't mean we don't want to know what happened, Zethrid. So what _happened_?"

For answer, Zethrid made a fist of her non-sword hand and _slammed_ it against the door she was guarding. The door didn't dent, but probably only because it had been designed to withstand angry galra fists. The door opened, but Acxa did not come out. She stayed by the bedside, and her Blade was also out. "Come in," she said. "I will not be leaving my post."

Kosmo led the way, padding right up to Keith's bed and half-rearing to put his big paws on the sleeping pad. Keith was unconscious on top of the covers, traces of blood suggesting he'd been cleaned up. Kosmo put his nose against Keith's face, sniffing and then a tentative lick, but got no response.

Acxa didn't concern herself with Kosmo, though. She was watching the humans. "We had a sparring session this morning," she said, in the flat tone of one giving a report. "And then went our own ways to deal with our concerns on the ship. When Keith did not rejoin us for the midday meal, I went looking for him. I found him unconscious on the floor of the observation deck. Evidence suggests something hit him hard and quick. There was no sign of a fight, though his hand was near his knife. I had Zethrid carry him back here, and I cleaned the blood off. There are no significant external injuries. But he is not waking up."

She wasn't holding her blade toward the men as such; it was a ready position, but more intended to let her immediately see if the sigil flashed. Lance asked, "Will you let me take a look? Please?"

Acxa was clearly Not Happy. Like Zethrid and Ezor, there was the sense about her that war had just been declared. But against whom was still apparently up for debate. She glared at Lance and then at Shiro. Coming to some conclusion, she growled, "All right. But if Allura returns you are not to defend her. Not here. Not now."

Lance was clearly having the worst day of his life in a very long time. His nod was curt, as if he were making himself do so. He was careful not to actually touch Keith as he sat down on the edge of the bed, holding out his hands. Faint light gathered between his fingers as he focused. Head, body, arms, legs. "She...probably didn't mean to do this," he said slowly. "I'm not making excuses for it. It's still bad. It's like...a kidney punch times ten. She can't affect the physical body but she can really put the whammy on all the little systems that keep a body in one piece. Like an EMP grenade for humans."

"Bottom line it for us, Lance," said Shiro warily. Lance's eyes were closed and so he was missing the barely contained murderous rage on Acxa's face, and if the others outside could hear he wasn't thinking they'd be doing any better.

"He's gonna need to sleep it off," said Lance bluntly. "The internal system's gotta reboot. He'll probably have the mother and father of all headaches when it does, too." He sighed, and that utterly miserable expression returned. "I'm...really sorry, guys. She's never hit anyone this hard. If he'd been human he'd probably be dead, but you galra have a lot of resilience to you." And it was costing him a lot to admit that. He clearly _wanted_ to say _it was an accident, she didn't mean to_. But he wasn't. And as much as he hated himself for not defending Allura, he seemed to be hating himself even more for putting someone else in the line of her ire.

"Can you do anything?" asked Acxa.

"I can check on him," sighed Lance. "When he wakes up I can probably help with the headaches. But I don't think I can help him wake up sooner."

"Call Pidge and Hunk," said Shiro. "I know they're probably busy, but -"

"No." Acxa's refusal was firm. "We do not call the other paladins until Keith wakes and can tell us what set this in motion."

"You've got to be kidding," said Shiro shortly. "We've got to put a stop to this. She could've killed him. What happens next time?"

"We will guard you," said Acxa. "We will make sure one of us is with you at all times. She fears our blades. We can hurt her - and she has just given us excellent cause. But Keith was speaking to the paladins this morning. They are protecting your planet, and the balmera, and the Alteans. They are doing their duty. Pulling them from it right now, before we know the full extent of the problem, puts their work at risk and they will still need to wait until Keith wakes up to know the full situation. Call _Kolivan_. Update him. He will inform Krolia, and assign armed Blades to protect the other paladins until they can come here without jeopardizing their missions."

It was mercy, of a kind. Saying that Lance didn't have to tell Krolia about Keith himself. But it was strange, to hear her talk that way. She cared about Keith too, didn't she?

_The mission comes first,_ said the second soul. _For Blades, to the point of death and past it. She's honoring what she understands as Keith's last orders._

Well. Fuck _that_. "She could come back at any time," Shiro said shortly. "And if she did this because Keith has something to say, we can't actually stop her finishing the job."

"Yes," said Acxa grimly. "We can. We are the Blade of Marmora and if she comes near him again, we will cut her." Her blade tip flicked a bit, toward Shiro. "You may stay with him." To Lance, she said, "Call Kolivan. You understand what has happened and can update him most fully. Ezor will go with you."

"I can hear -" Lance began, but Acxa cut him off.

"Ezor will go with you."

~*~

Shiro was not left alone with Keith, precisely. Acxa stood stoically nearby, Blade at the ready. But her attention was on her duty, not on Shiro. Or Keith, as such. And Kosmo's head was resting on the bed from the other side, the wolf watching Keith intently.

As he had when sitting with Lance, Shiro took the time to think, and took Keith's hand in his to better know when Keith might be close to waking. Unconscious, Keith's face lacked the closed-off wariness it had worn so often lately, the wounded wolf waiting for the next enemy to attack. The skin had a lilac hue, but maybe that was because of the internal disruption Lance had mentioned. He'd only ever seen it once before. It did not, Shiro thought, bode well that he'd seen it when Keith was fighting for his life. It vaguely surprised him that he didn't register it as alien, as galra. Keith was always _Keith_ , a compact bipedal bundle of contradictions and anger management issues. Even if he could barely see that angry, half feral kid in the man on the bed, it was still there. Absently, Shiro realized that when Keith's skin was purple, the scar he'd put on Keith's face was nearly invisible - a texture shift more than a visible scar.

He reached out with his artificial hand to very lightly brush the hair away from Keith's face - a needless gesture, but one he couldn't seem to resist. Kosmo rolled his big head slightly to give Shiro a very clear _what the hell, man?_ look before resuming his watch.

"I never see him like this, you know," he said quietly. To Kosmo, or Acxa, or just the universe. "He always protects himself. He never stays down long."

"He did once before," said Acxa flatly. "I do not remember seeing you there."

Shiro didn't reply. There wasn't really anything to say to that, anyway, because he hadn't been there. And there were a lot of reasons for that, which he'd mostly dealt with. But he wasn't here to argue with Acxa.

"Allura's hatred of galra must be much stronger now," Acxa guessed. 

"There are a lot of reasons she might have lashed out this way," said Shiro. "Honestly, she may have the same problem I do - if you spend much time around Keith it's easy to start thinking he's indestructible. He takes risks that people much stronger, or older, or more trained consider suicide and he just...flies right out, unhurt. Over and over. Times like this just ...don't feel _real_."

Acxa gave him an odd look. "Everyone bleeds," she said, in the certain tone of someone who had tested this personally.

Shiro blew out a breath. "The day I met him, Acxa, he wouldn't have come up to your waist. He scored the highest any non-cadet ever scored on a pilot sim, and an hour later stole my _car_. He got into fights with kids much older, much bigger than him and he'd not only win, but the only damage to him would be a ripped shirt or muddied jeans, maybe some bruises. I saw him fight for ten hours straight at the Marmora trials. He went toe to toe with _Zarkon_. And that's just a handful of examples. Maybe it's normal for galra but...not for anyone else."

"...Ironic considering you have been the one to come closest to breaking him," said Acxa. "Perhaps, like Allura, it is because you think he cannot be broken."

Shiro blew out a long breath. She had a point. He didn't _like_ that she had a point, but she had one. "I can't...make myself feel things, Acxa."

"Then let him go," Acxa replied. "Go away. Wear the tracker for his sanity's sake and leave him alone."

"I was kind of hoping for a middle ground. I'd like time to adjust. Time to...explore this. Without hurting him. Is it possible?"

Acxa took the kind of deep breaths that were typically associated with mental phrases like 'I will not be angry'. After a few of them she said, "Are you at all skilled at difficult social interactions?"

Honestly, Shiro didn't know. Not for sure. He had been once, but now? - But on the other hand, he'd just been issued a challenge. "And if I say yes?"

"He is bonded to you," said Acxa. "That magnifies everything you do to him. For him. Near him. Including what you are doing right now. There are no innocent gestures."

Shiro sighed. "I see."

Acxa looked for a moment like she was fighting herself. Eventually she said, "If nothing else, stop forcing him to pretend he feels nothing. Let him have _that_ , at least. Honesty. If that drives you away then acknowledge that. We have a battle to fight with an enemy we cannot see. This nonsense wastes valuable time and energy."

Certainly a valid point. "...It can't have been intentional," Shiro murmured. "She shot her cause in the foot. She can't possibly think we'd support just _leaving her alone_ now."

"She wanted the two of you separated," said Acxa. "She has accomplished that. Temporarily, at least."

Allura had seen everyone waiting around a medical pod, though. She had to know by now that she'd just done more to bring the paladins together than almost anything else she might have tried. Any argument she put forth after this would be up against this one event. _The doctors said I resisted Haggar's control,_ said the second soul. _I don't actually remember doing it, but I have to agree the choices that made sense to me at the time don't make tactical sense using any other assumption. Maybe that's what's happening here?_

Shiro's fingers brushed the scar on Keith's cheek. The scar he'd put there. He remembered Keith's galra eyes, the fangs, the purple skin, yes. And he remembered the anguished _I love you_ , that even pinned to the ground with Shiro's sword inches from his face had not meant _don't hurt me_ , but _don't make me hurt you_ , even while the scar was being burned into his skin, the smell of it rising in the air. And the shock of hearing it, in that way, at that time. _I realized he'd been kept on his heels because he was trying to win without hurting me. The only way I'd accomplish what Haggar told me to do was to get him to give up. And he wouldn't. He doesn't work that way._ But there were always two perspectives, at least, about that day. What he remembered of why he'd chosen that way at the time, and the external analysis that suggested subconscious resistance, Keith's memory of the day, and Shiro's own views well after the fact. Allura had to be learning something about that kind of day now. If her desire was genuinely to be left alone all she had to do was stay away. It was her request that had brought Lance here to people that could teach him. Her magic that had made sure there were people living to do so. Her visits making everyone concerned. And now this. It would have been so easy for her to just...make up some story about arguing with Keith that made Keith look like the instigator. Shiro had seen that done many times, up to and including Lance once or twice, and seen it work fairly often. He was just strange enough that it was easy to believe just about anything of him, if you didn't really know him. But at the same time, that nebulous 'everyone' _knew_ Keith was nigh impossible to beat down. Imagination would boggle at how much power it had actually taken to do so. She'd killed her case with this. Even Lance, who wanted more than anything to defend her, wasn't even trying.

"Tell me about what Pidge and Hunk are doing," said Shiro quietly. "That's so important Keith didn't want them to come here yet."

~*

Lance gave Kolivan the report, letting 'dead inside' masquerade as 'calm'. And Kolivan agreed to send agents to watch over Pidge and Hunk who would also inform them of what was going on the moment it seemed they could be spared from what they were already doing. Kolivan was the very definition of unflappable; if 'invisible god-level power slowly losing her mind' didn't faze him, it was pretty certain nothing else was going to.

Yay, that was one. This was ...not the _worst_ day of his life. Lance wasn't really one to think about things like that in detail with organized rankings and all. But it was probably at least in the top five.

How long had it been this bad? Had something pushed her, today, to this new level? Did it matter? It wasn't 'she could have killed him'. Murder was...probably still too far an escalation from 'causing migraines'. It was that, when Kosmo brought them to see, when Lance saw how _on edge_ the generals were, that was the first thought he'd had - _oh god she's killed him_. And how close, how fucking _close_ he'd been to guessing right. That wasn't his Allura. That had never been his Allura. He'd thought they had time. But with this new - how much time was there left, now? How long before she _did_ kill someone?

He let Ezor do the steering. The ship was mostly a labyrinth to him, especially with the remodeling that had been done to make it deviate from standard cruiser design. And really, he didn't much care where he went. Ezor steered him back to Keith's room, where Kosmo stood guard on one side of the bed and Shiro sat on the other side, Keith oblivious in the middle. "Any change?"

"No," said Shiro. "Any comments from Kolivan?"

Lance ran a hand through his hair. "Honestly I think he's used to it being weird shit if one of us calls him. Like, _still_. He's sending agents to keep watch over Hunk and Pidge, priority wormholes. And as soon as it looks like they can take a break without their work falling apart the agents are instructed to tell them to get over here pronto. So I guess ...that's all we can do."

Shiro nodded. "Come on over here. This isn't your fault."

Lance came over to sit gingerly on a spare spot on the increasingly crowded bed, while Ezor walked over to Acxa to whisper quietly. Ezor slipped out soon enough. Lance said, "It's that I ...I can't hide anymore from how bad it's getting," he said. "I'd - I wouldn't believe she could hit any of us this hard. I mean _not even_ Keith. I know she's been having some issues with galra lately but..." he blew out a breath. "And he's still out. So she hit him _hard_." Lance leaned in, peering at Keith. "And...purple. But not suffocation purple."

"Yeah, he's sort of been shading more purple," said Shiro. "I figured it was part of that rebooting you mentioned. I've seen him change before."

Lance blinked. "Really? Is that like, a galra thing we just didn't know about?"

"No," Acxa interjected. "The rest of us, as we change, it stays changed. Most part-galra are either born with their galra traits, or acquire them as they age. Once acquired they stay. Keith is ...unusual. No, we don't know why. His mother does not exhibit the ability."

Lance frowned. It had been brought up before. He was sure it had been brought up before, although right now too much of his emotional state was bound up in Deep Cringe on Allura's behalf to really focus on it. But he was just as sure he hadn't seen it. Not like this. Keith had a similar shade of lilac to Lotor, and that was the kind of tidbit that stuck with you. He reached out a tentative hand.

"No, Lance," said Shiro. "Leave him alone. Yes, his eyes and teeth change too. Yes, I've seen it."

Lance jerked his hand back. "Sorry," he said. "Just...I thought that was an Altean thing, but he's ....really, really not Altean. When did you see it happen? I don't remember it."

"We were alone at the time," said Shiro, looking away. "Fighting. When...the business with Lotor happened."

"Oh," said Lance. "Yeah. That." 

"There's nothing you can do?" asked Shiro, careful not to put any kind of pressure in the request.

"Not until he wakes up," said Lance, shaking his head. "His body's got to figure itself out. Factory settings reset, that kind of thing. I can help if some wires get crossed, but not with the whole reboot."

"I guess...take it in shifts then," said Shiro. "Where do you want to be, Lance? I don't think Kosmo's going to be giving us rides, so ...we're here, for now."

"We will also be working shifts," said Acxa. "As it proves necessary. This room will be guarded. Allura will not get the opportunity to finish what she started."

Shiro nodded; Lance just flinched. "I guess...I'll stay," Lance decided. "Maybe I can figure something out that might help."

"I'll go...make some calls," said Shiro. "And then probably grab a blanket and nap in here. Someone should be awake when he wakes up, whenever that is."

~*~

The call Shiro really wanted to make - aside from the ones he couldn't, to bring the others in - was back to the clinic, because he did _not_ feel right. And he needed to understand why, if there was a 'why' in there anywhere. This was not a safe-to-fall-apart situation. Zethrid, however, followed him from the door of Keith's room. She had her Blade out, still, and held such that her good eye could see it flash if it was going to while they walked.

"I don't think you need to guard me," Shiro offered. He didn't really want to be talking to doctors with Zethrid of all people looking over his shoulder. "I don't think she'll be back for a while."

"Don't care," growled Zethrid shortly. "Captain's out. He'd want you protected. _Not_ going to tell him I let that invisible witch get to you while he slept it off." She nodded to the door of the console room. "Soundproofed and small. I'll stay outside the door; should be close enough that if she comes for you I'll know. _Don't_ lock it."

Zethrid spoke with absolute certainty; Shiro wondered if the certainty came from knowing how Keith felt, or how _she_ would feel in his place, and how much difference there might be. But if she'd let him talk in peace that was probably as good as it was going to get. "All right," he said. "...Thanks." It did at least help to know the room was soundproofed. He went inside and closed the door, and called Earth. Schlessinger answered, but quickly got Merisan. As the doctor settled himself before the screen, he remarked, "You appear stressed."

Shiro sighed. "The full story is very long and might get you questioned by the Garrison," he said.

Merisan gave Shiro a very bland, unimpressed look. "I have dealt with less pleasant interrogation techniques than the Garrison is legally permitted to employ, Mr. Shirogane," he replied mildly. "And have been provided with several defenses in the event they attempt 'off the book' methodology. You may speak freely."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Shiro, and began filling the doctor in.

~*~

Lance could probably have used a therapist to talk to, but didn't have one. And when it was his turn to take a break, he fully intended to use at least some of the time to track down his teachers and ask about what his options really were. Fion was a good teacher, and in the normal course of things maybe what he really needed right now was an advanced technique she hadn't gotten to yet. It was something to hope for, at least, and as he didn't have many of those at the moment he was hanging onto it hard. Acxa, standing guard, was being what Lance thought of as 'full galra' - implacable, unmoving, and ready at a second's notice to cut somebody in half - and he wasn't, therefore, inclined to talk to her. Keith, being unconscious, was a marginally _better_ conversationalist than he usually was, in that Lance could probably say anything and not get snapped at, but now wasn't the time.

After considering his options, Lance decided now was probably the time to see what he could really sense. Maybe he could track the processes going on in real time, or something. So he took over a chair, and focused his attention on Keith. There were probably fancy words for it on Earth. Fake psychics had come up with an entire dictionary of mumbo jumbo to describe things that weren't actually happening but that their customers wanted to happen. Trebians used their own words which didn't seem to translate well. Lance tended to think of it as if it were invisible water.

To mystic senses, what was going on was anything but peaceful and still. _Waves_ of energy rippled from head to toe and back again, rebounding against the limits of the physical form, disrupting everything in their wake. If that which was 'Keith' in the quintessential sense were a pool of liquid, essentially Allura had slammed a big rock into it and the shock waves were going back and forth, back and forth, slamming into anything and everything including each other. That was why Fion had taught Lance that you _didn't_ try to heal anything at this stage. It was like trying to calculate exactly what damage a tsunami would do while the tsunami was in the process of hitting shore. You couldn't really contain it or break it, you just had to wait until it wore itself out.

What on earth had _happened_ that Allura would do this? Lance was genuinely afraid to wonder. It was unlike her enough to be completely baffling. Even in a fight she'd been precise with her power. She'd never just ...thrown a grenade in and ducked. This was...crude, and cruel. Anger, maybe. He'd never seen her that angry though, not even at Honerva, or Lotor. Granted Keith could be uniquely infuriating, but...not to this level.

Trying to distract himself from the imminent probability of one _hell_ of a fight with Allura (that he would probably lose, and badly) Lance turned his mystic attention to Kosmo, and nearly fell out of the chair.

Kosmo, to mystic senses, was a luminous being. Like the White Lion that had kept them out of Oriande the first time, only...well. Smaller. A lot smaller. And wolf shaped rather than lion shaped. Every living being he'd looked at with that sight up to now had been a sort of bright quintessence blob that mostly but not completely matched their physical form. Kosmo, though, looked...exactly like himself, even his fur clearly delineated in light, every marking there. _He could see the wolf's expression_. And it was watching him. Amused by his sudden spooked startlement. Lance opened his eyes and yep, the wolf _was_ watching him. With just a hint of lupine amusement - ears forward, jaw slightly dropped, tongue sticking out just a bit. He was being laughed at by Keith's pet wo-

No. Not 'pet wolf'. That was _nobody's_ pet _anything_. "What _are_ you?" Lance whispered. Not in fear. Maybe in awe. Just a little.

~*~

Merisan considered the information he'd been given, in the context he was asked to consider it. "I am surprised that you are not more drained by it all," he mused. "Or do you find the challenges energizing, as you put it?"

"I honestly couldn't tell you how I feel," Shiro admitted. "Except...well, vindicated, a bit. By the lion plaza. I'm still a Paladin."

The old doctor's expression was bland. "You needed some rock animals to tell you this?" he asked. And waved a hand, dismissing it. "Clearly you are one who needs to be needed, and for more vital matters than meetings and paperwork. But you should be mindful of your strength levels. Do not hesitate to withdraw if you need to recharge. I assure you the universe is quite likely to _always_ be in danger from one thing or another. So. Take a moment and consider. How do you feel?"

Shiro exhaled slowly and did as requested. "...It's going to sound terrible," he admitted. "But - _alive_."

"It is always good to recognize those elements one needs in one's life to find happiness," said Merisan. "Now...the problem you wanted to discuss?"

Shiro exhaled. "I ...don't understand why I'm reacting to Keith the way I am. If I were looking at myself from outside I'd...honestly I think I'd be disgusted. I don't understand."

Merisan studied Shiro thoughtfully, through the console connection. "Disgusted?" he asked. "Why?"

"Because I just _stop_ ," said Shiro. "I mean okay there's no...must rush in and rescue, and maybe that says something. But there isn't anything else either. Like...Keith's in danger and all I can do is _watch_? That's not _me_ , doctor. At least it didn't used to be me. It's not helpful. Why is it happening?"

"Hmmm," said Merisan, frowning. "Didn't 'used to be' you? Do explain."

Shiro gave him the rundown of the trials of Marmora, and how he'd fought to get Keith out of there. "But...when the Lions were taking that Acolyte up into space, and it exploded, I just... _watched_. I watched them carry it away from Earth. I watched them fall from the sky. I didn't do anything. And later on, Zethrid took Keith prisoner and I just stopped. Like it wasn't happening. It wasn't real. And the same thing today. He's lying unconscious in a bed down the way, and ...I don't feel _anything_. It's actually scaring me in an intellectual kind of way. He's not nothing to me. He matters at least as much as Lance, or Hunk, or Pidge, and I'd be furious if this happened to one of them, so ...I just don't understand."

Merisan didn't answer immediately; he listened, and he thought it over. "And you are judging yourself, because you believe that the fact that you feel nothing means you are possibly an uncaring person, a callous person. Does that sound right?"

Shiro closed his eyes. "...Yeah. That's...pretty much it exactly. How can I not care? Why?"

"Mr. Shirogane," said Merisan levelly, "Allow me to put your fears at rest. I suspect 'not caring' is the very _last_ thing that is happening. On the contrary, it may well be you care too much."

"I ...really don't follow," said Shiro, frowning. "I feel nothing because I care too much? There's no logic there."

"Emotions do not follow conventional logic, at least when viewed from certain angles," said Merisan. "But there is always a reason, if you can trace it back. That first time you mentioned. When you fought the galra for him. You feared they might kill him, you said. Fast forward a bit for me. How did you feel when it was over? When that particular situation was resolved?"

"Wrung out," Shiro admitted. "Shaky. So many knife edges that day, one wrong word and it would've all gone bad."

Merisan gave him a Patient look. "Did you, at all, consider your actions to defend Keith?"

"No, not really," Shiro admitted. "I didn't want to dwell on it."

"Dwell on it now," Merisan said. "Put yourself back to those hours, that time. Let yourself feel...whatever it is that you felt then. Talk me through it."

Reluctantly, Shiro obeyed, or tried to. He thought about the hours and hours of watching Keith fighting galra much bigger and stronger than himself, much better trained. Watching Keith get beaten every single time but refusing to surrender even when he was swaying on his feet, staggering to rise. "...Sick to my stomach. I w..wanted to help but he had to do it himself. And it just kept getting worse. They sent a ghost of _me_ to him. Said things...I knew weren't true, things to break him. With my face. Watched him beg for me to come back and it wasn't even _me_. And Kolivan wouldn't let the test stop, wouldn't let me help. They kept sending things to break him. And he wouldn't stop and it was killing him and ...I couldn't stand it anymore."

"So you resisted," said Merisan. "And later?"

"That was the day we both found out Keith was galra," said Shiro. "And ...it was huge. Allura wouldn't acknowledge his existence for weeks. Everyone was adjusting and he was miserable. We'd been fighting the galra some time by then. He was one of the enemy and he'd never even known it. You could see him trying to pretend he didn't want to cringe at his own reflection."

"That is the others," Merisan agreed. "But how did _you_ feel?"

"...I don't know," Shiro admitted again. "I just remember thinking I had to remind Keith he was still the same person. Finding out he had galra blood didn't actually change who he was. It's not destiny."

Merisan said nothing. He just regarded Shiro steadily through the screen, waiting.

Shiro sighed. "...I paralyzed myself, didn't I," he said. "I wouldn't deal with it then and now if the situation's at all similar it just goes right back to that. Like a flashback."

"Rather precisely like that, yes, it would seem so," said Merisan mildly. "Part of you is stuck on that day. On whatever it is you refused to feel. And when that denied emotion looms again, the reaction is repeated. Shut down. If you want to know how you feel, you will need to face what you felt then. And every time after. I would suggest meditation on the subject. But do so with care; you have walled something away, and repressed emotions when ...uncorked, as it were... can be particularly powerful and destabilizing."

"And now may be a bad time for that," Shiro agreed. "Yeah. But I'll make time soon. Thanks."

"As ever, our doors are open, Mr. Shirogane. For now, good afternoon."

~*~

Keith woke to nausea, a _thundering_ headache, and pervading silence. He didn't register he was on his own bed until he tried to sit up and found Kosmo, Lance _and_ Acxa all in the room. Acxa looked ready to kill, but that was probably to be expected. Lance looked ready to offer himself as a sacrifice, though, and that wasn't. He didn't really have time to dwell on either, though, because the pounding in his skull became an urgent need to throw up breakfast. The ringing in his ears from that was the only sound, which was just as well. Vomiting was not the most pleasant sound in the universe, but he managed at least to reach the bathroom first even if he did bounce off a wall or two on the way.

When that was done he panted into the toilet for a while, wiped off his mouth, sat on the floor with his back to the wall. There was a bass drum corp having a competition in his skull, but he could see he'd been followed. Acxa crouched down to eye level, and her mouth moved, but he heard nothing.

Nothing at all.

_Great. Just...great._ Allura's snarl had been _that_ loud.

"I can't hear you," he said, or whispered, or possibly croaked. His own voice was also silence. And the room was spinning. Keith keeled over onto his side on the floor, glad that the metal was cool.


	39. Thoughts in Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro does some self-examining. Keith shows a few cracks. And I don't think Keith's a polyglot per se, but I'm pretty sure he knows cusswords in at least a dozen languages of Earth and a few dozen worlds beyond it.

Lance tried to take heart from the fact that Kosmo seemed unruffled. Keith’s voice didn’t sound particularly _off_ , just...resigned and tired. Which was probably to be expected. Once he’d keeled over onto the bathroom floor and stayed put long enough to make clear he wasn’t going to be moving for a bit, Lance stepped forward to help get him back into bed.

Acxa gave Lance a worried look. “Can you give him his hearing again?”

Keith wasn’t unconscious now, just ...well, _out_ of it. He wasn’t responding to words, but he couldn’t hear so that wasn’t surprising. With his currently cat-slitted eyes closed, he probably wasn’t aware of much of anything outside his head or very immediate vicinity. He did what he could to make Lance’s job of getting him back to bed easier, but that was it. Once flat on his bed again his eyes closed and one hand went to his forehead.

“Guessing that’s the headaches,” said Lance. “Believe it or not, he’s awake sooner than I expected. I can probably – _probably_ – do something when his internal energies calm the hell down, Acxa, but right now I can’t really do anything.

“ _Probably_ do something?” said Acxa sourly. “And what if you can do nothing?”

“Then we’ll take him down to the planet and the big bunches of mystics they have,” said Lance firmly. “He’s a Paladin of Voltron twice over. Believe me. Galra or no galra they’ll bend over backwards to help him. We can deal with this. We can fix this.”

Kosmo seemed to agree; now that Keith was awake, the big wolf was licking his face. Not like Keith was covered in peanut butter – more like reassurance. It had that effect, at least. Keith curled his body toward the wolf.

Acxa raised an eyebrow at Lance. “Magic wolf slobber?”

Lance shrugged. “Whatever works. I’ve had the kind of headaches Allura in a _mood_ can cause, and all signs indicate she hit Keith harder than she’s ever hit me. As soon as his quintessence stops fluctuating all over the place we can try healing him – assuming whatever this is is still a problem by then.”

“He can still talk,” said Acxa, thinking. “We should know what happened.”

“Wait for Shiro,” Lance advised. “Gives Keith more time to get his braincells in a basket, too.” He didn’t want to say that the last thing he particularly wanted right now was for Keith to _notice_ Shiro’s absence. Not when Keith wouldn’t be able to hear any explanations. But when he looked at Acxa, he realized she was thinking the same thing, and relaxed a bit.

So the only real sound for a while was Kosmo licking Keith’s face, which ...admittedly was a weirdly intimate sort of sound to fill a room with, but neither Lance nor Acxa had anything much to talk about until Shiro came back in and noticed the change. “He’s awake?” he asked, then to Keith, “Are you all right?”

Before Shiro could really absorb that Keith wasn’t responsive, Lance said, “He can’t hear you. He woke up a while ago, pinballed into the bathroom, threw up and said he can’t hear anything. And then fell over. I got him back to bed, and he’s probably got the cleanest face in the solar system just now.”

“We were waiting for you,” said Acxa. “He can still talk. I want to know what happened to him.”

Shiro didn’t move for a few moments. “...He can’t hear?” he repeated.

“For now,” Lance agreed. “I promise, once it’s safe to try and heal him I’ll be working on it, and if I can’t do anything I know where a whole _bunch_ of lifelong mystics are who’d be more than happy to help.”

Shiro nodded, frowning slightly as if thinking hard about something. “...Well. I’m here. I’d like to know, too. So how are you asking him questions?”

“Easily,” said Acxa. She walked over to Keith, and touched him lightly on the shoulder. When he rolled over to see what was going on – and his face was still lilac, and very slobbered-on – she made a quick motion with one hand. He blinked at har a few times, bleary, and said, “Towel.”

Lance, with a small lopsided grin that said this was being filed away for some serious jabs later on, as need required, got up, found a towel, and tossed it in Keith’s direction.

Keith snagged it, dried off his face – with an apologetic scritch for Kosmo – and said, “After the spar I went to the observation deck to think.” His voice was normal enough, but sometimes the tone wasn’t quite right. And the volume wasn’t even. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, Shiro. I was thinking about things when Allura talked to me.”

“You can hear Allura?” asked Lance, surprised. And Keith did pause, but apparently only because Lance had moved. He then looked to Acxa, who signed in a way that everyone understood this time; she pointed at Keith, then tugged one earlobe, and then raised her Blade to tap pointedly on the symbol that would flash if Allura were present.

Keith nodded. “I could hear her. She said anyone could hear her if she wanted them to, and that that’s why Lance can hear and see her – she’s choosing when to allow it. I think that’s part of why we upset her. I can sense her whether she wants me to or not. Shiro can hear her whether or not she intends him to.”

Lance’s expression twisted. “Damnit,” he said quietly.

“Just more work to get done,” said Shiro levelly.

But Keith was watching Acxa, who gave him a sort of ‘go on’ gesture.

“Allura started telling me about all the important things she’s doing,” said Keith. “That Lance wouldn’t understand. She told me that Honerva’s intelligence guides the dark energy being now, that she and Lotor are part of it and she needs to stay where she is to counter their influence on the universe. She said Honerva wants to bring Lotor back to life, but the dark energy can only corrupt and destroy so it’ll take a while before she figures out how.” He paused, swaying a bit on the bed. “She offered to break the bond I gave to Shiro if I’d stop helping Lance. She said she could.”

“She...thinks I wouldn’t understand needing to stop those two?” asked Lance, puzzled.

“Did you agree to her terms?” was Shiro’s question.

Acxa gave both men an exasperated look. “I am improvising where I can, but Marmora handsign does not cover personal questions. I think we can assume Keith did not agree to her terms. He does not look to me like someone she currently favors.” To Lance, she said bluntly, “If her cause is so just why resort to bribery?” And then, facing Keith, she tugged again on her earlobe, pointed at Keith, then made a fist of her hand and then an open palm.

Keith looked down. “...I tried to tell her she wasn’t alone. That we’d help. We’d get everyone to help. She yelled, in my head, that I wasn’t listening. It was really really loud. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“She told me that too,” Shiro mused. “That was the last thing she said to me – and it was louder than anything else she said at the time. That I wasn’t listening.” He looked over at Lance, who had slid right back into a miserable ‘this is in the top five worst days of my life’ state. “Lance, don’t lose hope just yet.”

“She could’ve killed him,” said Lance. “She’s _never_ been like that before. She’s losing ground to the mote.”

“She’s still in there fighting,” said Shiro. “She may be losing, but she hasn’t lost yet.”

“So she rung Keith’s bell so hard he can’t hear anything in a _good_ way?” asked Lance bitterly.

“Lance, I need you to start _thinking_ ,” said Shiro firmly. “Every attack has been like her right up until it wasn’t. You tell me. If she _hadn’t_ hurt Keith like this what would you make of her argument? About Lotor, and Haggar?”

“...I’d make a nightmare of it, honestly,” sighed Lance. “Those two actually on the same side? A bad side? With a really _big_ blob of that dark stuff?”

“You’d be more willing to accept her theory that she’s got to stay out there to counter it, wouldn’t you?” Shiro pressed. “She’s always been persuasive. Good at finding the argument that’ll have the most impact. That’s a fair chunk of her diplomatic toolbox right there. But she’s not using it to her best right now and I think that’s because the _real_ Allura is in there trying to get us to act.”

“So she attacked Keith because we’d all take that as absolutely time to fix this,” said Lance slowly. “Circle the wagons, call in the cavalry, except we’re not?”

“No, we have,” said Shiro. “It won’t take Pidge or Hunk long to clear their desks, Lance. I talked to them both before coming here. They’re not so wrapped up in their projects that they’d ignore this. And Kolivan’s good at gauging the danger of a threat. He won’t have told his agents to wait any longer than they genuinely have to. They’ll be coming as soon as they can. In the meantime we should consider what else you’re going to need.”

Keith watched them talking, but laid down again fairly soon. Acxa snagged a tablet from the desk, claws tapping quickly on the screen. Noting the basic points as people spoke.

Lance blew out a breath. “The planet,” he said. “I’ll need as many of the Trebian mystics as we can get, I think. We can set up a group ritual to pull her here. The five of us as its focus because we’ve got the direct connection – and get Coran, for six – and the generals ready to destroy the mote once we pull it out.”

Shiro nodded. “I think we have a plan. Once she’s here and sane she can tell us how much of the rest of it is true, how much we need to get the universe ready for, but one crisis at a time. For now - “ he turned toward the bed. “Kosmo? Will you take Lance where he needs to go? He’s got a lot of people to talk to.”

But Kosmo looked at Lance, and then at Keith, clearly reluctant to leave his friend’s side.

“There are other options,” Acxa replied, and went to the room’s comm. “Ezor. Take your prettyboy down to the planet. You may use the Fang. Make sure Allura does not attack him.” She looked between the two of them. “I will guard here. If you travel, Lance, Ezor will accompany you. If you travel, Shiro, then Zethrid will accompany you. While only the people in this room know what must be done, Allura can derail everything by removing us. That will not happen.”

Lance pursed his lips. “...I guess that’s best. If Keith can tell you when the headaches stop, that’s probably when I’ll be able to try healing his ears.” When Ezor appeared in the doorway he got up. “See ya, buddy,” he said, giving Keith a wave before following Ezor out.

Shiro waited while Acxa finished tapping the summary of the conversation and plan into the tablet, and handed it to Keith. He didn’t get up, but he did say, “That’ll work. My head’s still pounding.”

Shiro got up, to sit on Keith’s bed. “I’ll keep you company,” he said.

Acxa handed Shiro the tablet. “I will get another.”

~*~

Pidge closed the door, blowing out a long, tired breath, and thought about the wonders of espresso. Kolivan had sent her one of Hunk’s chefs, a graduate of his cooking schools, and that was _really_ welcome, but Pidge knew what galra eyes looked like even if the face they were in happened to be karpayan.

Still, the chef knew her job – and Pidge did welcome the sudden ready supply of hand-held tasty snacks and portable (and potable) coffee based drinks. She waited outside the office whenever Pidge had sensitive business to discuss, or in another room, so ‘gathering intel’ was either not part of her job, or she was so good at planting bugs that even Pidge’s detection systems couldn’t pick them up.

Not that she’d had a whole lot of time to think about it.

The visit of the Trebian Queen had sent at least some of the Garrison brass into a veritable tizzy. Queen Orla was an _old_ Altean, something they’d really never seen, and the fact that she was fairly familiar – on a firsthand basis – with much of Earth’s history for the past thousand years or so had made certain people in high places the world over feel very vulnerable.

Griffin had done his job, and chosen teams for the Voltron-2 project. Land, Air, and Sea were now selected, and somewhat to Pidge’s surprise he’d even done a pretty good job of selecting nonhuman representatives for each that even the most paranoid Garrison officers couldn’t argue with. Part-mer for Sea team, and an Olkari engineer for Land team. The three teams were now on practice drills on a constant basis, which had done some good in calming edgy people down. Earth would be defended. The alliance would be protected. They couldn’t actually get the combining right – _yet_ – but they were clearly working on it, and would get there. Since the pilots, and not the machines, were handling the timing, it would take practice and training to get things done.

And for at least a little while, the world wasn’t on the edge of saying anything collectively Stupid and Pidge could breathe. She’d still feel happier when the Trebian queen went off to Altea, but that was soon enough.

First she had to deal with her guest. “Okay,” she said, which the chef seemed to understand was her cue to come out of the shadows, bowing politely.

“Espresso, commander?” she asked.

“Good idea, but it can wait a minute,” said Pidge. “Why, exactly, did Kolivan send you? And don’t tell me it was a goodwill gesture. He’s too smart for it to be just that.”

The chef smiled, and drew her knife. Not a usual chef’s knife, this one was a luxite blade with the Marmora crest. “To protect you, paladin,” she said.

Pidge blinked. “From _what_? Have you noticed where we are?” She frowned. “Is my family in any danger?”

“They are all being monitored, but we do not think so,” said the chef. “When you have a few days free I am instructed to provide you with all the information we have, but not before then. Your work here is important.”

Pidge crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah. I’m aware of that. But I can also delegate if I need to. So spill.”

“As you wish, commander,” said the chef/Blade.

Thirty minutes later Pidge had Matt called into her office. Thirty minutes after that, she and her new chef-bodyguard were flying in Pidge’s personal ship for the wormhole point, and a trip to Trebi.

~*~

The room quieted very quickly, once Lance was gone. Acxa wasn’t much for talking unless she had something to say. Keith was mostly off in his own little pain-filled world, and Kosmo didn’t speak.

Shiro wasn’t sure what he was doing, staying, but he knew he shouldn’t leave. Not for Keith’s sake, although that was a factor, but for his own. Here was where he needed to be, and he knew it when he stopped still long enough to listen to himself.

Listening to himself was the trick the doctors kept trying to teach him, and he was starting to see why. He’d never really done it. Not ever. It was always about what he _needed_ to do, where he _needed_ to go, and what defined ‘need’ wasn’t a case of personal preference. The habit born of being raised knowing there was only a little time to get anything done was hard to unlearn. Sitting on the instinct that told him there _had_ to be something more important to do was hard to master. But here, right here, was where he wanted to be.

Well. Not quite. But mostly. He studied Keith, and decided yes, Keith was probably awake – just shutting out anything that might make the headaches worse. Shiro touched him lightly on the shoulder, until Keith opened his currently-cat-slitted eyes to watch him. Shiro did what he could to ask, via gesture, _may I join you?_ And got a narrow-eyed, tired glare.

“You want to lie down with me?” Keith asked, the odd tonelessness suggesting he still couldn’t hear himself talk. Shiro nodded.

Blink. Blinkblink. “For the record your timing sucks _balls_ , Shiro,” said Keith, but he made room for the larger man to lie down next to him.

Shiro took it a little further though, putting out his arms for Keith to come into, to be held. Once again he got that suspicious, tired glare, but Keith moved to curl against him and Shiro put his arms around him in a soft hug. For all Keith’s prickly suspicion, he relaxed very quickly into the full-body embrace, eyes closing again.

This was where he wanted to be, Shiro understood. It didn’t feel awkward at all. On the contrary it felt like...lying next to a fire after coming in from a winter night. Parts of him were thawing that he hadn’t realized were numb, and it felt good at the same time that it hurt. Shiro let his mind wander, meditating as he’d been instructed to on what felt right, what was being felt at all, and didn’t notice when he started to cry.

~*~

The arrival of Queen Orla on Altea was, if you weren’t _really_ used to Alteans, a hugely confusing affair.

Hunk shut down his workshop and schools for the day, because nobody’d be paying attention anyway, but left all the doors open. Alteans didn’t, as a default, grok the idea of security, of needing to protect Things from being taken. It just wasn’t how they thought.

So when Orla’s ship landed on Altea, the colonists welcomed her not as a queen, but as if she were a cousin from the far reaches of the family who’d finally made it to the reunion. And Orla and her party greeted the colonists like younger cousins who’d gone off to the countryside for a few years. To Hunk’s eyes it was a mob, but a happy and laid back mob, and everybody was interrupting everybody else to show them THINGS. Tugging the guests over to see new dishes, or ship designs, or wanting to see Orla’s ship and her chefs and who made Orla’s dress and promises were made to visit and be visted, at volume and at length, within thirty doboshes of the ship touching down.

Within a few _vargas_ the entire planet could be said to be one big, extended block party.

Hunk enjoyed watching, but the big, burly galra who had dropped in in a Marmora uniform and said he was Hunk’s bodyguard didn’t seem to see anything funny about any of it. The galra had said he was there for Hunk’s protection and would explain himself when schedules cleared. So Hunk had worked on that – getting projects to points where they could proceed without him for a bit, and making calls to Shay to be sure the balmera were careful and knew who to call for help, and when to get to calling.

With the party in full swing, Hunk felt now was a safe time, so he said, “You’re bringing down the mood, you know. These people have been separated for most of the life of the Empire, and now they’re together again. What could ruin that?”

The galra told him, ending with, “I am here to be sure she does not attempt to attack you. When you have a few quintants to spare, your presence is needed on Trebi.”

Hunk just stared. “...Not dead. She’s not dead. And Lance never _said_?”

“The time was not right,” said the galra. “Now it is. Now the knowledge has purpose.”

Hunk looked out at the expanding all-altean party. And, in the distance, the statue of Allura. “It always had purpose, man,” he said sadly. “But if we can rescue her now then I’m on my way. Shay and the queen can take it from here for now.” He eyed the galra. “You really think she’d hurt us?”

“Kolivan has said she already injured Keith,” said the galra. “We are taking no chances.”

“Uh huh,” said Hunk. “And you can do what, exactly?”

“This blade will flash in the presence of a druid,” said the galra. “And if she approaches you.”

“Fine,” sighed Hunk, irritated. “I’m on my way. _Of course_. But while I’m dealing with this I want you to get hold of Kolivan and tell him I want time with his forgemaster. And some luxite ingots.”

“You are human,” said the galra, frowning. “The blades only -”

“ _Well aware of that_ , thanks,” said Hunk shortly. “I still want it. The ‘time is right’ for Kolivan to pay a fucking ttention and see that I get it. I could’ve been working on this for _years_. But nooo. Everyone’s gotta decide when I get to know stuff.” He turned away from the festivities, heading into the hangar. “Come on, big guy. Clearly we’ve got work to do.”

~*~

Meditate, Merisan had advised him. Put yourself back to that day, those hours. Remember what it was you felt. What it was you told yourself there was no time for.

It wasn’t easy. The day of the Trials had been a ….really, _really_ long day. And things thought known or understood at the start had been completely overturned by the end.

Part of it, he knew. Shiro had taken a great deal of personal comfort in thinking Keith was invincible, especially then. Thinking his life was on a timer, a timer nearing its end at that, _knowing_ that Keith could think on his feet, could take far, far more punishment than _anyone_ else on the team – on a personal and professional level, that belief that Keith was functionally indestructible had been ...knowing someone who knew him would go on, really. He, Shiro, would not be forgotten when he died so far from Earth’s sun that you couldn’t see it in the night sky. And on the professional level he’d always known Keith was quick, intelligent, and good at getting out of trouble. Particularly when you compared him to the other options available. The rest of the team knew when to fight. Keith knew how to get them back home again once the fight had started.

And the Trials had punched that belief hard, repeatedly, without mercy. It hadn’t _just_ been seeing someone he cared about suffer, while he was forced to stand by and do nothing. It hadn’t _just_ been being ordered to stand by while that suffering got worse and worse and he was told that even if it _killed_ them he had to stand by and do nothing. Those were all part of it, certainly. But he’d known that those would happen from the outset. If it had been any of the others he’d have put his foot down before the Trials even started. Maybe it was in a galra to stand by and watch, but it was not in any kind of good human to do so.

But he hadn’t put his foot down, because it had been Keith.

And sure, Keith had insisted he needed to do this. Keith occasionally did insist on things which were _extremely_ bad for him, because the man had genuinely zero concept of his death having any impact on anything. Keith’s life meant nothing to Keith himself as such, only what he could do with it. As well value a wrench to the point of never using it on a nut. It wasn’t a viewpoint Shiro agreed with, but he’d never really worked out how to argue with it without opening the door to lots of arguments against his own activities.

But the main reason Shiro hadn’t put his foot down was that deep-seated belief that nothing could or would kill Keith. Not _really_. Keith had walked away from fights where he’d been outnumbered six or eight to one, and even though he’d lost he’d only really been bruised. He’d fall off rooftops and ladders and high walkways and walk away, never breaking a bone. He’d survived only God knew how many abusive or inattentive foster homes. _Nothing_ could really hurt Keith.

Until the Trials. Hour after hour, that deep belief had been beaten on with hammers. Shiro’d hung in there during the ten hours of physical combat, but then the trials started going for mental manipulations and Shiro had to face the fact that he knew, he _knew_ Keith’s mind had a million cracks in it. And the trials jammed ice picks in every single one. And Shiro had to watch, stand by and watch, and accept that he’d allowed Keith to walk into a situation he really might _not_ walk out of. That Keith could really _die_. That he’d have to go back to the castleship with the body and tell the others he’d _watched it happen_. It would be the domino that set the chain in motion to _end_ Voltron, because it wouldn’t just be ‘we need a new Red Paladin’. The others certainly wouldn’t follow a leader that let something like that happen, and you couldn’t just say ‘well I thought he could handle it’. No one else had seen what Keith could survive. They’d lose faith, and without that faith there wouldn’t be unity enough to form Voltron even _if_ someone could be found to fly Red.

It was an unmitigated relief that the Red Lion wasn’t going to sit around and let its paladin get psychologically tortured. The Red Lion’s attack had freed Shiro to act too, and all his worries disappeared once he could.

And then Keith passed the trial and they both found out _why_ Keith was so indestructible.

He’d never ...really thought about it. About what it _meant_ that Keith was half-galra.

Partly because there really hadn’t been time. Coming as it did on the heels of several hours of terror that Keith was actually going to die and everything was going to fall apart right after, reassuring Keith that no, he didn’t care about the revelation, it didn’t matter, he was still Keith’s friend, Keith was still part of the team – it had been easy. Giddily easy almost. It was just a new verse in the long refrain they’d had down the years of why Keith wasn’t a _screwup_. And they’d told the others and it was really just more of that – much more about getting the team’s cohesion back than actually thinking _there’s a galra on the team_.

When phrased _like that_ , yeah. It was...unnerving. It recast everything he’d ever seen Keith do, from the fights he’d gotten into to the damage he healed from, in a different light. Keith was smaller than most of his galra acquaintances, but he kept up with them just fine. Shiro knew galra weaknesses from his time as a gladiator, but he hadn’t been able to remember those fights the day they found out Keith was galra. So it had _all_ seemed like ...a little invincible galra had been among them all along. And he’d refused to think about it because very clearly that thought had also occurred to everyone else, including Keith, and ...he’d seen Keith at some pretty bad points in his life, but at no time had Keith been so actively, utterly miserable as right then. It was like being confirmed a half-monster. Half Nazi. Because it wasn’t just blood, but what that blood believed and acted on. The galra were the worst aliens out there, the one thing everyone else could agree on as the worst. Any self-esteem Keith had managed to earn as Red Paladin went right out the window. So right then was _not_ the time to join the crowd.

Maybe it was just as well that Keith currently didn’t seem able to look human. Maybe it was time _both_ of them really just accepted that a fair part of who Keith _was_ , was galra. Not ‘like’ galra, or galra-compatible, but ...galra.

Shiro wanted to declare this didn’t matter. Keith was Keith. Whatever color his skin happened to be that day, whatever color his eyes. But that way lay thinking things like ‘mating bond’ was the same as ‘stalking’. You couldn’t judge different species on the same scale except in the broadest possible sense. (Like: Wiping out other species being bad. That level of broad.)

And galra could die. Shiro knew that very well, he’d seen to it personally on several occasions. Keith was _not_ indestructible.

It had been a shock. It had been unexpected. But the more Shiro thought about it, the more he realized that no, Keith being half galra really never had been an issue. Not the way anyone might have expected, anyway. There was no sense of betrayal, because no one had ever fought harder on Shiro’s behalf than Keith. And no one was more wounded to find out he was half galra than Keith himself. Hell the man was _still_ trying to figure out what ‘half galra’ meant, years and years later. Purple skin, yellow eyes, fangs...still Keith.

No, the cold, freezing paralysis came from _Keith is going to die_. Try as he might, Shiro couldn’t seem to make himself analyze _that_ in any depth. The mind went that far, and no farther.

He didn’t realize that he was holding Keith quite tightly.

~*~

The Fang was a thing of beauty, and Hunk was a genius on par with Alfor, and Lance was (briefly) in utter love with the ship. _Flying_ it was a wholly different experience than just riding in it. Which wasn’t to say riding in it wasn’t like, a million times better than riding in a galra fighter for any distance, but that was like saying ‘would you rather ride in a beat up garbage truck or a Porsche’.

Lance resolved to ask Hunk for one of these ships long before the Fang had finished the (for it) tiny hop between Trebi’s moon and its surface. It was the closest he’d come to flying a Lion without actually getting to fly in a Lion, and there was no higher compliment.

Ezor found it all very amusing, of course. “Okay, so who do we see first? Your class of mystics, or Coran?”

The question took quite a lot of the enchantment out of the flight. “Mystics,” Lance decided. “I’ve owed Coran a talk for a long time now, and I didn’t because Allura didn’t want him to know. I thought it was to spare him – but now I’m thinking she didn’t want him to see the slide, because he’d probably have spotted it sooner than we did. It’s gonna be a long talk now, and I don’t want to give myself any more excuses to cut it short than will be there already.”

Ezor, kind copilot that she could occasionally be, called up the coordinates for the best landing site for the Fang if that was the goal. “That park’s got some nice open space,” she said. “Just don’t land on any joggers. Do I get to see these mystics you train with?”

“You’re not going to find them very exciting,” Lance warned. “Lots of meditation, lots of little flowers, an _insane_ amount of tea drinking. Not a whole lot else. But they know a lot more about what we’re going to need to do than -”

Ezor’s entire demeanor went from calm and casual to determined and combat-ready when her dagger’s symbol flashed. She released the controls immediately, grabbing it. The cockpit didn’t have _room_ for an extended Blade, but she seemed fine holding the dagger at the ready. “You keep flying,” she ordered Lance. To the empty (to her) air, she said, “I see _one sign_ of a trick out of you ghost lady and I start slashing everywhere I can until I hit you.”

Lance did so, keeping an iron grip on the yoke as well as his self control as he piloted Keith’s ship to the coordinates Ezor had set. It didn’t help that in his mind was a clear, anguished, _Lance, Lance I’m_ _ **sorry!**_ That sounded very near to a sob. But taking a ship in for a landing at orbital speeds was _not_ the time for the heart to lead the way. Focusing as much of his attention as he could not not pancaking ship and passengers into a crater in downtown Trebi City, he said, “I know, and I still love you, but _can we talk about this later_?”

~*~

The easiest way to deal with a headache was to lie down and stop thinking. Just let the pain happen, without attempting in any way to focus on it or anything else. Keith had a pretty good working encyclopedia of types of pain and how best to deal with them without medication, since as a general rule he’d never had _access_ to medication. So when Shiro indicated he wanted to lie down next to him, Keith didn’t analyze it, he just gave the shortest answer that would require the least amount of explanation. And when Shiro wanted to hold him, he’d acquiesced for the same reason. His skull was _pounding_ , his whole body ached, he did not have time or energy for Shiro being Weird.

Somewhere in there he’d slipped back into unconsciousness, which was frankly a relief. It didn’t stop the pain as such, but it did mean that for a while he didn’t care.

When he woke, therefore, and the pain had receded enough that rational thought and connected internal sentences were possible, the first one was _What the_ _fuck_ _?_

He was still clothed, so that was good. But he was under the covers, not on them as he vaguely recalled being before. Shiro was also under the covers. In….presumably pajamas. The fabric felt like pajama fabric, anyway, and Keith could tell that because he was stretched out against Shiro, with his face on Shiro’s chest, and both of Shiro’s arms around him, and really a part of him was deeply angry that this literal dream come true had apparently only required being suckerpunched by an invisible Altean goddess to bring about. If he’d known that sooner a _hell_ of a lot of trouble could’ve been avoided.

That it _was_ a literal dream come true was why he didn’t budge for quite a while, though he could sense that Acxa was in the room with them. He was bizarrely glad he’d refined his quintessence sense far enough to be sure of that without having to turn around to see her. He couldn’t hear Shiro’s breathing, or his own, but he could feel Shiro’s heart beat against his ear, and the rise and fall of his chest. Shiro was either asleep, or deep in meditation. Keith spent a while longer enjoying the moment – Shiro, in his bed, relaxed, embracing him. He was kind of glad the Holts had given Shiro a new arm that attached, and didn’t glow brightly at all hours, and wondered whose idea it had been. Keith drank in the moment, tucking the memory of it away to bring out later, when he’d need to remind himself it had happened.

Because it was going to end. Everything ended. It was one of a very few things Keith understood as an absolute. All things ended. Good things tended to end sooner. And there was probably a lot to do. Shiro had gotten back, it seemed, a lot of his old sense of balance – but even so he’d never really known Shiro to be able to stand idly by while important things were going on.

Keith disengaged himself very, very carefully, but of course he couldn’t hear how well he succeeded. He’d pulled back just enough to see Shiro’s face before he stopped, frowning.

...Tears?

Why would Shiro be crying? In his _sleep_?

Keith frowned. It was not unreasonable to think one singular event might be related to other singular events occurring at the same time. The tears might relate to the reason Shiro had decided to sleep with him. Whatever that was.

Then it occurred to him that it might well be pity because of the whole not-hearing thing, and his stomach soured. Well, fuck _that_. He did not require a thrown bone because the universe had given him a kick. Keith rolled the rest of the way out of bed and onto his feet. He’d get his hearing back, or not, it didn’t matter.

Kosmo got up from his spot along the foot of the bed as he tested out his balance, giving his hand a little hello-there lick and a sort of jaw-nip for how-are-you. Keith didn’t bother trying words he couldn’t hear, and just projected _fineness_ at the wolf. Kosmo’s response to that was to tilt one ear back and his head slightly to the side in a gesture of amused doubt.

Acxa caught Keith’s attention with a light touch on his arm, and handed him a tablet.

_You’ve been out for at least a quintant. Green and Yellow en route to Trebi. Blue had encounter with Allura; no damage. He promises to treat your hearing loss as soon as he returns. Currently enlisting assistance and debriefing Coran. Ezor is with him._

Keith blinked. He’d missed a particularly busy day, then. He handed the tablet back, and Acxa indicated he should look toward the bed.

Shiro was awake now. Sitting up, watching Keith with a sort of faintly puzzled expression. Keith answered _that_ with words, or at least gave it a fair shot - “I don’t have time for your pity. There’s work to do.”

Puzzlement shifted _very_ quickly to an utterly thunderous expression. Shiro got up _fast,_ and got right up to Keith – forcing Keith to back up, arms raised to defend or fight, but that wasn’t what Shiro was interested in. Clearly pissed off, Shiro used two signs he _knew_ Keith understood – _fuck you, asshole_. And did so, pointedly, with his prosthetic arm, which he then held up before Keith’s face and smacked with his normal one. He spoke, and Keith was crap at lip reading, but Shiro gestured toward Acxa, who was quickly transcribing. And then stalked off.

Acxa held up the tablet. _Pity? You think I’m stupid enough to pity you, that I’d think you’d accept that? You nearly died, Keith. She could’ve killed you. She got close enough that even Lance isn’t defending her. Cut the crap and get your shit together, because if you think I’m going to stand by and let her kill you you have several dozen new thoughts coming. Accuse me of pitying_ _you and I will use this shiny metal arm to give you a cauliflower ear._

Keith blinked at the words as he read them, then looked to Acxa. For her part, she seemed deeply amused, and flicked Keith’s forehead lightly with one fingertip-claw in the universal gesture of ‘dunce’. She cleared the tablet and typed her own thoughts, clear and succinct: _It would seem your mate is finally learning to speak galra_.

Keith would have liked to argue, but honestly...she was right. Shiro’s angry outburst was probably the most reassuring response he could have given. Keith could believe, in that context, that Shiro really had been concerned. That it wasn’t pity. Of course, now Keith had to apologize, but...now he knew Shiro really cared, that that had survived, and that was more than ‘something’. He smiled, even with Acxa and Kosmo both doing their separate versions of laughing at him, and went about getting himself ready to deal with a day that was going to start with apologies.


	40. Cat Waxing and Dog Washing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance makes preparations, being motivated, and Keith and Shiro perfect being obliquely flirtatious.
> 
> We're nearing the end times, can you tell?

Ezor held a lively and consistent curiosity about nearly everything, though the specific points of prolonged interest tended to upset people. She kept her guard up while Lance landed the Fang, but didn’t relax until her blade stopped flashing a warning.

The blade, whether it flashed or not, _was_ getting wary stares and murmured comments from the Trebians, as Lance led the way to the studio where Fion taught her classes in quintessence manipulation. It was later in the day, and most Trebians that were outdoors were doing so to watch the sunset, or stargaze the early, brighter stars and planets in their system. Ezor kept her blade out, in case Allura tried approaching again, but took care to make sure that casual social jostling didn’t result in stabbings lining their wake.

Fion’s afternoon class seemed to be just getting out when they approached, and she gave Lance a little wave. “How are your exercises going?” she asked. “Having a -” she saw Ezor, and Ezor’s knife. “...Problem?” The way she said the last word seemed to imply that if Ezor _was_ the problem, Fion felt herself able to handle it. Ezor found this greatly amusing, and her bright cheery grin said so clearly.

Lance was not in the mood for inter-species one-upsmanship. “I need to assemble a circle,” he said. “It’s important. And it might be dangerous. How many people do you think you could bring in, and how quickly?”

Fion’s eyebrows shot up, and Ezor could see her ears twitch. “What are you talking about?”

Lance sighed. “The long version is really long, Fion. I mean I’ll tell you if you’re fine with coming over to a restaurant and we can talk until the place closes, but you might want to go with the short version on this one.”

Fion glanced at Ezor. And the blade that Ezor had not sheathed. “...All right, the short version then.”

“There’s an Altean mystic stuck between realities,” said Lance. “She’s in danger from a...bad thing. That lives there. It’s already poisoned her. From where she is she can do a lot of damage to _this_ reality if we let the poison finish its work. But if we can pull her back to this reality, we can pull the poison out of her and it’ll all be okay.”

Ezor was quietly impressed. Fion actually seemed to understand the statements. “...You realize that’s never been done that we know of. It will take a lot of power.”

Lance nodded seriously. “Hence the asking you how many people you can assemble. And how quickly.”

“We will also need a focus, some way to reach her, connect to her,” said Fion.

Lance gestured at the marks on his cheeks. “You’re looking at it,” he said. “She made me her anchor. And I’ve got friends coming in that know her. Circle within circle, like you said a few weeks ago.”

“And here I thought the tea had upset your stomach,” said Fion dryly. “We may want to contact the balmera and borrow a crystal or three. Just to be sure. As to how many, how soon...” she frowned, silently thinking it out. “In a day? I could get you twenty, but they would mostly be novices. Give me a week and permission to use your name and I can gather the best on the planet aside from Her Majesty and her daughter. Within that time I think everyone with any training will want to help. Would that be enough?”

“It’s got to be,” said Lance grimly. “If she stays where she is the news will get very bad for all of us. I’m not even sure we can wait the week. If my name will help then sure, use it. Use all our names. The Paladins of Voltron are coming here, Fion. All of them. For this. I mean it. It’s _important_.”

“Just so you know,” Ezor chipped in helpfully, “I’ve got my knife out in case she tries attacking him again.”

Fion blinked. “Your dagger cuts across realities?”

“It cuts the bits of her in _this_ one, at least,” said Ezor. “He’s not kidding. Can you put a rush on it?”

Fion took a deep breath. “I’ll start at once. Every student I have, every alumnus I still have contact information for. If the Queen were here it would be much easier, but I’ll start at once. How will I reach you if it goes well?”

“Send a message to the BMV Janus,” said Ezor. “It’s parked behind your moon but you can bounce a message off the crystal relay no problem.”

“I will update you daily,” said Fion. “With how many will come and how quickly they can be at the plaza of lions. I will leave it to you to decide when we have enough to proceed, or are out of time”

She turned to go back inside. “I clearly have many calls to make, paladin. Trebi stands with Voltron. Have a good night.”

Lance blinked as she disappeared. “That went...a hell of a lot better than I expected it to,” he admitted.

“Why didn’t you tell her who we’re saving?” asked Ezor. “Is it a political thing?”

“Might be,” said Lance. “Hell if I know. The Queen’s hundreds of years old and only has one kid? And Allura was an only child too. This isn’t the time for politics. So it’s information that doesn’t matter. We deal with that crisis when it smacks us in the face. These guys don’t even know what she looks like, anyway.”

Ezor mused, “She looks kinda like the Queen and her daughter. Either that or all alteans are starting to look alike to me. They need more stripes.”

Lance gave her a very level look. “Thank you, not the _least_ bit helpful, let’s get back to the Fang and on to the hard part of this run.”

~*~

Shiro’s anger cooled fairly quickly once he started moving. The cruiser had a _lot_ of space – you could run half a mile in a straight line and not cross its length entirely. He walked without worrying about getting lost. He’d figure it out eventually.

It was just – he hadn’t expected Keith to snap at him. His guard had been down and the words had stung, but it didn’t take him that long to readjust. He _knew_ Keith – at least, this part of Keith – quite well. Keith wasn’t lashing out in spite of tenderness, he was lashing out _because_ of it. Because...for a moment or two he’d probably been happy. And in Keith’s world, relaxing into being happy was the surest possible way not only to invite tragedy, but to invite tragedy while being wholly unprepared for the pain that came with it. He’d seen it several times in the early weeks of their friendship; Keith almost deliberately fucking things up just to push that moment of inevitable abandonment closer, to get it over with. It had taken at least a year, before _I won’t give up on you_ was accepted as anything like possibly, remotely, maybe being true.

It would’ve been nice, Shiro reflected, to think he didn’t deserve any such suspicion now.

Shiro kept walking, one hand idly tapping on doors with fingertips, listening to the echoes. It would’ve been nice, yes, but when most of his thoughts were occupied with trying to figure out where he really stood and what he really felt, when he couldn’t point to a single root cause because there were too many options, he couldn’t blame Keith for reacting like rejection was an inevitability. He couldn’t even honestly say it wasn’t a _possibility_. He just didn’t _know_. Keith wasn’t just asking for a trial relationship, date a while and see where it went. No, this was ...this was a variant of marriage, wasn’t it? To accept that this whatever-they-had was for life, forever, or ...not to. Those were really the only options. Adam and Curtis had known better than to _ever_ try forcing Shiro’s hand that way. Shiro set the pace; his partners kept up or got the hell out.

Whether Keith was forcing it – refusing to take any steps to neutralize the bond so some other path could be tried – was...irrelevant. At least at the moment. Focusing on it was just an excuse _not_ to focus on how comfortable it had been to lie next to him, how easily he’d slept. Even on a galra bed, on a galra ship, with none of Lance’s quintessence trickery to mask it. It was just an excuse not to think about how cold the idea of Keith gone or dead felt even to consider.

At least he didn’t have to worry about Keith keeping up with him. Or...any of the things he’d ever worried about, actually. Keith didn’t try to tell him what he could or couldn’t do, didn’t try to stop him moving forward even if ‘forward’ had dangers. Never an ‘I told you so’. Never a competition. He just didn’t want to be left behind, where ‘left behind’ could only be a deliberate act of exclusion. Adam had fretted over his health. Curtis had been deferential. Keith...might have, once, but clearly not anymore. Even when he admitted that he’d die to protect Shiro, he had no problems bitching Shiro out, either. Neither above nor below, but partners.

The problem really was – Shiro was fine with testing the waters to see how this might go, but he wasn’t sure the middle ground was an option. He’d seen Zethrid’s broken insanity from very close to. The last thing he wanted was to see that madness shining in Keith’s eyes, or what that madness might set in motion.

After a while more of walking, Shiro had to accept that he didn’t have a good answer, and he’d just have to see where Keith stood. Which meant talking to him. Which meant, at the moment, getting a tablet to write on. And it was in the process of searching for one – the cruiser had a hell of a lot of empty rooms – that Keith caught up to him. Or at least found him; he didn’t look as though he’d been running anywhere.

“I wanted to apologize,” said Keith. “I should have known better.”

Shiro didn’t have to ask if Keith could hear him yet. The lack of feedback was pretty audible now. If anything it made it easier to parse where Keith was, emotionally, because he couldn’t hear when he was being open. But Shiro hadn’t found a tablet, so he just held up his empty hands (briefly miming writing on a clipboard) and nodded.

Keith handed him a tablet. “I’m just going to carry one until this clears up.”

Certainly saved on having to stock up on them, at least. Shiro took it, but when he touched it with his prosthetic hand he blinked. The fingers were interfacing with the tablet. He could tell what they were doing because they were sending data back to him – his arm was establishing a link with the tablet so he didn’t have to write. One step up from speech-to-text; just think and make words happen.

Keith noticed Shiro’s puzzled surprise and looked down at the tablet. “...You aren’t doing that?”

Shiro tested the tablet’s responses: _It’s doing it on its own. Trust the Holts to make typing notes faster._

Keith ah’d. “I was going to ask about the arm. If the Holts made it it’s probably got all kinds of things in it.”

The trick, Shiro rapidly discovered, was to think only of what he wanted to say. _So you came and tracked me down just to apologize?_ The tablet wrote, and he held it up for Keith to see.

Keith made a face. “And...find out why you would be crying in your sleep. I’d like to think wanting to stay in bed with me was a good thing?”

_You could have died._ The font got bigger, filling the tablet’s little screen. Shiro flipped the tablet so Keith could see.

Keith frowned, but did him the favor of not giving a flippant answer. Or a self-deprecating one, like ‘so?’ or ‘and?’ or ‘does it matter?’. It therefore took him a bit to come up with a reply. Eventually, carefully – or at least, as carefully as he could given he couldn’t judge his tone of voice – he asked, “Is that what it was, then? Being glad I’m not dead?”

It would have been easy to say yes, or evade with an ‘I don’t know’. Shiro genuinely _wasn’t_ entirely sure where he stood. But the only real course here was truth. If it was going to work, or if it was going to fail, either way truth would be the only way to find out. The tablet wrote: _I am afraid_. And he flipped it so Keith could read.

“Why?” Keith asked simply, now watching him closely.

_Because you’ve never been in a relationship. Because I’ve never been in one that lasted. And we’ve both had clear warnings that if we do this and it breaks the consequences could go way beyond the two of us._

“You didn’t leave them,” said Keith quietly. “ _They_ left _you_. You know I won’t unless you want me to.”

“Except for the time that you did,” Shiro pointed out, the words surprising him until he realized the second soul was responsible. And the words were there, on the tablet, as he said them.

Even more surprising was Keith seemed to understand who’d spoken. “So you do still feel the divide,” he said. “I’d wondered, since I started being able to sense the difference. I did what I thought you wanted, at the time. What I thought needed to happen.”

“You could’ve killed the whole team, withdrawing like that. You could’ve cost us the whole war.” The words came from the other and Shiro tried not to cringe. They weren’t being said accusingly this time, but Keith couldn’t hear that.

“I had to get out of your way.” Maybe being deaf was helping, because Keith didn’t seem angry either, just insistent, and Shiro felt like a very odd spectator. The switches hadn’t been conscious before. The other soul was leaving him in charge but just...having his own say? And Keith was actually _following_ it. He continued, “Shiro. You weren’t here when they decided they just _had_ to have a new Black Paladin. You weren’t here when they reacted to just the _idea_ of it being me. Pidge thought it was a joke. Lance was ready to spit nails. And then Black did choose me and they ….dealt with it. Reluctantly. _Badly_. I had to argue for every. Goddamn. Thing and _yeah_. I lost my temper because I hadn’t asked for it, and I didn’t want it, and they were _pissed at me_ because they _did_. I had to fight to be heard and mostly I just...didn’t want to. But for _your_ sake I did. It took _months_. But we were finally some kind of team again.”

Keith closed his eyes, so Shiro – either side of him – couldn’t interrupt even if they wanted to. “And then...I got my wish. I got you back. I found you. And...I knew you were the leader and...you were. Even more than I’d realized. Because those months I spent trying to prove I could do the job meant nothing. Nothing at all. Not once you were back on the bridge. It went right back to how it had been at the start – no one listening. Everyone second guessing. Except when you opened your mouth and then ...unity. Behind _you_. Except that _you_ still had this stupid idea that you could lead from the castleship, like you’ve _ever_ been good at standing on the sidelines. And you wouldn’t listen. So ...I got out of your way. And I got out of theirs. The only person on the team who had somewhere else to go that was at all useful was me. So I did.”

Shiro reached out to touch Keith’s shoulder, prompting him to open his eyes. The tablet read: _What about Allura?_

“Lance didn’t want to bump her off the team,” said Keith. “You were back but he actually came to talk to _me_ about it. Just the fact that he was worried enough to think that was a good idea meant for him it was serious. And...” he paused, frowning. Uncertain. “I’d never been in that position before. Where I had the chance to choose my own course. I’d always just gone where the wind – or you – sent me. I can lead the paladins when you’re not in the mood to, but they’re not _my_ team, Shiro. They’re yours. Among the Blades I had the chance to learn a little more about who _I_ am. But I never abandoned you. If you’d called I would have come. Even when our paths crossed by accident I looked out for you.”

Shiro blinked. The tablet read: _When was that?_

“You took Lotor to the Kral Zera,” said Keith dryly. “Did you just not _notice_ all the explosions? The Blades were going to take out the entire high command. The agents with me didn’t want to risk their necks disarming enough bombs to save you. I was running full speed to disarm as many as I could. I think I met Lotor in passing, but he wasn’t why I was trying to disarm the bombs. I saw you were there. I had to make sure you were safe.” He stepped forward, one hand rising to brush Shiro’s jaw. “I would never abandon you, Shiro. I got out of the way of you being happy. For as long as I could. You were never going to be happy watching someone else fly Black.” The hand withdrew. “...You were happy, with Curtis.”

The second soul felt...disgruntled? Not angry. They’d both spent enough time talking through all this to digest the words differently than they would have even a year ago. And that both of them knew which soul Keith was really talking to seemed to help a lot too.

But Keith’s expression was serious. “I realize I’m probably not helping my case here. Disarming the bombs let the civil war continue. But...it comes down to my best guess as to what would make you happy, Shiro. I looked for you when I thought you’d want to be found. I let you be when I thought you were happy without me. I saved you...because I thought you would want to be saved – which is a totally different thing from whether you thought you deserved to be so don’t even start. I’ve paid the price every time for every choice I’ve made, Shiro. I heard Alfor’s warnings. I know Allura’s. Tell me where you want the lines to be and I’ll respect them. I won’t – I _can’t_ – give up on you. But if it’s what _you_ want...I can let you go. You’re just going to have to tell me, or show me, because ...I don’t really want to.”

Shiro didn’t know what to say to all that. It felt very raw just to _hear_ it. Which probably meant that Keith not being able to hear his own voice was making it possible – in a way, because he wasn’t hearing the words out loud, it was all just...still in his mind. Not _public_ in any way. Shiro opened his arms and Keith stepped into the offered embrace; not tense, just ...relieved, apparently. He hugged Shiro tightly, as he hadn’t done in years. Shiro found himself hugging back. Nothing was really _solved_ , but there was an understanding. And with that, a little less fear. Keith was...right. He wasn’t like Zarkon, or Zethrid. And Shiro didn’t have to take anyone’s word for that – he’d seen it, firsthand. The lines just had to be defined. He had to be willing to say when Keith should _not_ act to save him. Or...just trust that Keith would know. He’d known pretty accurately so far.

~*~

The survivors of Coran’s family lived relatively modestly – at least, modestly if one assumed Coran had lived in the castleship _before_ Altea had come under fire. Their house was near the edge of the city, such that some of its views were of the farmlands beyond. And if Lance hadn’t known he was on an alien world, the word ‘suburban’ would have come to mind. The lawns were significantly larger than on Earth, though not to the point that the word ‘estate’ would apply. And the Trebians had apparently heard about the concept of ‘lawn’ and chucked in in favor of ‘landscaping’. Everything was cut, or trimmed, or shaped, but the ‘everything’ was probably almost exactly what had been there before there was also a house, and the house was placed to fit within the pre-existing life, not the rest of the neighborhood.

“Guessing ‘territory’ isn’t a big concern for them,” said Ezor. It had been a long hike. The Trebian preference for using leg-power to get everywhere had extended only as far as bicycle taxis and rickshaws, and both options made Lance feel lazy, so they’d hiked it and currently both of them were having second thoughts about the wisdom of that decision.

“Not sure anymore that very much _is_ , now that the Empire’s gone,” Lance admitted, leaning against a tree. “I haven’t seen any of them get angry or upset or afraid. The boogeyman’s gone.”

“Yeah, that kind of thinking let Lotor take a lot of planets,” said Ezor dryly. “Okay. I guess we go up and knock?”

“Seems so?” Lance hazarded. He didn’t want to. Not because Coran didn’t deserve to know, but because he really should’ve been told a long time ago and now any anger would be more than justified. And on top of that he was doing something Allura had been very clear about not wanting to happen, so if she dropped in again it probably wouldn’t be great.

But the only direction was forward. Besides which, he had not hauled himself all this way just to walk back with nothing. Lance pushed himself away from the tree, heading up to the house’s door. Up close, there was a lot of little bits of ornamentation – carvings in the wood, etchings in the glass windows. Everything had a bit of art to it, but not ostentation. The art was clearly meant just for those that lived here, or came this close. Good sign, bad sign? Lance sighed, nerved himself, and knocked.

A woman answered the door, blinking at Lance’s face. And ears; he saw her look. “You are the paladin,” she said. “I’m Elisana. I’ll get Coran.” She smiled. “He will be glad to have visitors.”

Lance blinked. What did _that_ mean? But Elisana left the door, and left it open, an invitation to enter. So he gestured to Ezor to follow him, and did so.

_These people have watched way too much Earth television_ , was Lance’s first thought. The décor was much closer to “TV drama” than it was to anything he’d ever seen of Altean art. Though there were subtle differences – there were little figurines that Lance recognized as human actors, in the costumes of various roles. Books that – if his grasp of Altean hadn’t completely left him – were books about Earth trivia. He found himself fighting down the desire to apologize on behalf of his planet for bad episode writing. Before he could decipher too many of the spines, though, Coran breezed in.

The phrase _mid-life crisis_ didn’t just cross Lance’s mind. It marched in with a dozen buddies and set up camp. Coran was...yes, _ablaze_ in brightly colored Traditional Altean Garb. He’d have fit in perfectly if standing just behind Allura at one of those coalition meetings she’d had to preside over now and again, but in this setting it looked a lot like Coran’s last little marble had rolled under the fridge.

“Lance,” he greeted, pulling Lance’s offered hand in for a hug. “Good to see you again. This is a wonderful planet, isn’t it? I should show you around. You’ve met Elisana and Gregory, right? We’ve been catching up. And of course they’ve been very curious about Altea, and Earth, and you and the other Paladins, and -”

“CORAN!” yelled Lance, to make himself heard at all. When Coran paused, surprised at the sudden volume, Lance continued: “You’re going to need to sit down. I’ve got a lot to tell you and there’s not a lot of time.”

Though really he was almost wishing Allura _would_ drop in. She needed to see this. Coran _needed_ her. He had a family now, yes, but surely they had to find his behavior as odd as Lance did?

Ezor wasn’t sure either. Leaning over his shoulder, she whispered, “Are you _sure_ you need him?”

But Coran, expression falling into one of worry, calmed down as he took a seat. “What is it, lad? You can tell me anything, you know that. I’m always here for you, and the others.”

_Goddamnit, Allura_. Lance loved her, and understood why she’d not wanted to tell Coran anything, but this was...hard. He took a seat too, momentarily surprised by just how _cushiony_ the furniture was. “This is ...I hope you’re not too mad about it, honestly,” he admitted.

“Mad?” Coran echoed, lost. “Why would I be mad at you, boy? You’ve never done anything to hurt me, or Allura.”

Lance decided to get it over with. “She’s not dead, Coran. Allura. She’s not dead.”

The thud as Coran toppled out of his chair onto the floor brought Elisande and Gregory back into the room while Lance was trying to pick Coran up.

“It’s okay, he just fainted,” said Ezor cheerfully.

“Oh, yeah, he does that,” said Gregory, in the tone of one who’d now seen it several times. “Should’ve seen him when we showed him our family albums. Dead faint _and_ wouldn’t let go of them.” Businesslike, he helped lance put Coran back into the chair, and then got a glass of water to toss in the old Altean’s face. “We used to use smelling salts, but he accidentally snorted the last bunch we had two quintants ago.”

The water did the trick, anyway. Dripping from his moustache, Coran spluttered, “Not dead? When? _How_?”

“Thanks,” said Lance to Gregory. To Coran, “Kinda since always, actually.” He tapped one of his cheek markings with a finger. “She was ...asleep, at first. I didn’t hear from her at all for weeks after we left her in the nexus. I thought she was dead too. And then I started having weird dreams, really vivid dreams, and I thought maybe that was her, but maybe it was the marks, too, so I didn’t say anything. Then I started hearing her whispering in my head. Never more than a word or two, for months. Then sentences, but it’d be like...some random comment and then she’d be quiet again. I think she was sleeping, and I was part of her dreams, or something. Sometimes she’d stir up leaves, or flower petals. Or a star would shine really brightly for a moment and I’d know that was her, but for the longest time it wasn’t anything I could be sure of. I couldn’t really talk to her.”

It was hurting a lot, the way Coran was looking at him. The whole crestfallen demeanor said _why didn’t you tell me_ more clearly than if he’d shouted it.

So Lance tried to explain. “When word reached Earth about Trebi existing, that’s about when she woke up, Coran. And...she told me not to tell you she was alive, because she couldn’t come back.”

“Couldn’t come back?” Coran echoed. “But...why not?” God the man could sound so small, so crushed. Lance got out of his chair to put a hand on Coran’s shoulder.

“She’s given a lot of reasons,” said Lance quietly. “But the reason I’m here is we don’t believe them anymore. She’s in trouble, Coran. That dark energy blob thing is twisting her mind, and it’s getting worse. That’s why Ezor’s here. Those luxite blades let us know when she’s close. We’re going to bring her back, so we can help her. And to do that we need you.”

“I would _never_ betray the princess, Lance,” said Coran. “She... _told_ you not to tell me?”

Lance sighed. “The best way I can put it is – remember when we were doing those parades and ice shows and things? How you got with that bug in your head? It’s like that. Only meaner. She thinks she has to stay where she is to counter the blob, but it’s winning. It’s warping her. She’s already almost killed Keith. She made him _deaf_ , Coran. We’ve got to get her out, and we need everyone that knows her. Will you come?”

For a moment it looked like Coran would explode. Or fragment. Or maybe just scream. But then he said, “...It’s not your fault. I’ll talk to her about this myself. Of _course_ I’ll help, lad. Where do I need to be?”

“Plaza of Lions,” said Lance, relieved. “My teachers here will be bringing all the mystics they can, and I’m sure they can use your help getting organized. We’ve already called Hunk and Pidge to come in when they can, and Shiro’s here too.” He looked to Coran’s newfound family, but Gregory shook his head.

“We don’t know his princess,” he said. “And we’re not mystics. But we’ll make sure he’s set to stay downtown for a few days. Near the plaza of lions. So he can be ready when everything else is.”

~*~

The silence should have driven him crazy. And it _was_ kind of unnerving, to speak and feel his throat vibrate and know he was making sound but hear nothing at all. He didn’t hear his heart beating either, though he could feel it, like he couldn’t hear himself breathing but could feel the breath on his hand, on his lips.

But on the whole, the sudden lack of sound was just a Thing That Was. He carried a tablet with him so people could type out what they wanted to say and thought about Marmora agent handsign and the scraps of ASL he’d picked up in the foster system, and just...got on with things.

On the whole, the logistics of bringing together five widely separated paladins and one old Altean, along with some Blades and some mystic Alteans, wasn’t that hard. Possibly Shiro was handling the hard bits, if there were any. Or maybe it was just easier to be a team without having to figure who flew what color lion into the equation. He could be the leader, _and_ Shiro could be the leader, _and_ Lance could be the leader. Whoever made sense at the time. Right now, mostly Lance ran things. He knew what was needed in terms of power and time and skill, and he seemed to be handling it all right.

This left Keith with not a lot to do but think. And brush Kosmo, who had started to shed again. So he’d stripped down to a pair of shorts that had once been part of the Blade uniform until a warlord’s cestus clawed the knees full of holes, and took Kosmo to the big shower Hunk had made and installed just for him, and proceeded to wash and brush the giant wolf while Shiro watched nearby.

It wasn’t that Kosmo couldn’t groom himself – Hunk was good at making things that Kosmo could use on his own – but it was a kind of bonding time. They couldn’t wrestle and play as they had when the wolf was smaller – Kosmo could crush ribs now with a misplaced paw. But Keith could give him a bath and a grooming, and that balanced the scales a bit with all the teleporting and protecting Kosmo did for the crew.

And it let Keith think. And feel. That was new, but just as necessary. Everything happening with Shiro now was something Keith hadn’t dared even daydream about. That he was _here_. That he wanted to spend time with Keith. That somewhere he’d decided Keith wasn’t a massive screwup after all, that he seemed to understand why Keith had chosen as he had – or, at least, wasn’t blaming him anymore.

Keith vaguely remembered, a long long time ago, when his father lived, being given a little packet of brightly colored pills. He’d been upset at first, because why would his father give him _pills_ of all things. But his father had said wait until it’s bathtime. And when bathtime came and Keith had gotten into the tub, his father had dropped one of those pills into the water. Keith had watched, fascinated, as the pill grew and expanded, leaving a little sponge hippo floating in the tub, yawning a big yawn.

Keith felt like one of those little pills, and he’d just been dunked in the water. It wasn’t ‘everything he’d ever wanted’, possibly because Keith worked very hard at managing his expectations. But it was more than he’d dared to hope for. He wasn’t making Shiro crazy, anymore. The other self, the one that had been so mad at him so _often_ , wasn’t angry anymore. (And Keith could sense him now, that other self, so very like ‘his’ Shiro but not quite the same. Keith intended to keep practicing; he wanted to know who was talking and who was listening, for as long as there _were_ two souls – and maybe there would always be two. That had been the price – both lived, or neither.) He could hug Shiro again and have it be okay. Shiro _wanted to be with him_. That might be a first, really.

Maybe it wouldn’t last. Nothing did, in the end. They’d get Allura back for Lance, kill the mote – then what? Shiro had a house to clean up and sort out. Keith had his crew and his work with the Blades. And maybe they’d both have picking up whatever work they’d be taking Allura from, but maybe not, too. Until she’d been freed and given time to recover there really was no knowing what was true in her warnings.

Keith wondered what would happen to one of those little sponges, if the pill casing didn’t dissolve in the water. Would the sponge, absorbing that water, press the casing into breaking?

He’d gotten Kosmo’s head and forelegs brushed and scrubbed and was working on his big fluffy back and sides when Shiro came over to help. He’d stripped down too, the shorts just some boxers he’d packed. It let Keith get a good look at the new arm the Holts had made him, and he realized that they’d kept that glowing shoulder base but modified it so the new arm connected to Shiro’s body fully. Kosmo quite appreciated the extra hands, giving a happy little yip while the two of them worked the water into the fur, using brushes to help separate out the loose fur in the undercoat. The drains would be full of shed wolf fur soon. They kept it, of course – that much wolf fur qualified as a trade good, especially when clean.

Shiro gave Keith’s hands tentative little brushing touches, where they met in passing. Keith knew it wasn’t an accident – he’d seen firsthand how Shiro showed affection – but didn’t really know what to do with it but accept it.

Shiro had not been wrong. They’d both been warned. Keith doubly so – Shiro didn’t know what to do with something that wasn’t going to end any more than Keith did. He wanted to ‘take it slow’. Needed to, really. With all the risk and warning Shiro took every step carefully. It was one of those things people tended to get wrong about him, who only knew him my reputation. Shiro _wasn’t_ impulsive. He _didn’t_ dive in. No – he thought, and planned, and had failsafes and backups in place. Understanding how things could go wrong and planning for them was what made Shiro the better general, of the two of them. He took risks all the time, but never uncalculated.

Keith understood that very well. It was...reassuring, really. It was one of the things Keith loved about him, because if Shiro loved you, if he trusted you, _you_ could trust it wasn’t on a whim, it wasn’t done lightly. No, if he trusted you, he’d _thought_ about it. He’d made a decision and found you worthy.

It was, however, also going to be hell. Keith knew _that_ , too. Because Shiro had been warned of how things could go wrong, and that once begun it couldn’t be undone. That meant he’d think about it. Analyze it. Be sure the risk was worth it. And part of that would be things like this, being so close he could be kissed, brushing fingertips, warm hugs. Apparently even sleeping next to each other. Testing the waters. Seeing how it felt.

Gods forbid Shiro ever _try_ to be a cocktease. There would be fatalities. Keith could easily wind up one of them if he wasn’t careful, too, because he had to be honest for this to work. He couldn’t do as ‘common sense’ dictated and guard his heart. He had to be open about what he wanted, and how he felt, and that ran counter to every self-preservation instinct he’d ever learned, because even with all this Open Honesty going on it was still possible for Shiro to decide the risk was too great and back off. Shut it down. Go back to Earth and stay there. And if he did, Keith would _have_ to accept it.

So he accepted the smiles now, and the touches, and the help washing and combing Kosmo, and tucked all the little moments away.

He might need them, later.

  



	41. A Kind of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge and Hunk arrive. There's some chatting, some banging on things. A little of that Earth thing called 'kissing'. Some snark. And of course shit slipping sideways.

Hunk was the first to arrive, his bewildered, oversized Blade bodyguard in tow, and he was as close to pissed off as it was possible for him to be after he’d had a whole space trip to think about things.

“So,” he began – from jump, from the moment he set foot off his space jeep’s ramp onto the Janus’ deck - “What’s gonna happen is this. We’re gonna deal with this, and we’re gonna get Allura back, and we’re gonna _make sure she’s okay_ , and then we are gonna have a _long talk_ about Why You Tell Hunk Shit At The Start Of Things And Not The End, and after _that_ I am gonna take Krum here,” and he hiked a thumb over his shoulder at the bodyguard who had clearly _very mistakenly_ thought this was going to be a milk run, “and I’m gonna head out to Blade HQ and find Kolivan’s forgemaster, get me some luxite ingots, and some volunteers, and we’re gonna find out how luxite reacts to galra and see what it’d take to do something similar for other civic-minded species.”

Acxa gave the hapless and clearly overwhelmed Krum a solemn nod of greeting, passed Keith a tablet that bullet-pointed Hunk’s speech, and then said, “You apparently missed the part of your briefing where our captain cannot currently hear you. Lance is expected to return today. Hopefully he will be able to heal him.”

“No,” said Hunk with irritable patience, “I did not in fact miss that part of the memo, I was getting it off my chest to you lot.” He unslung a rucksack that looked to be full of kits – or at least hardshell cases of many sizes – from his shoulder, and rooted around in it. A small, rectangularish case was produced, and he took out a pair of glasses. He put them on, tapped a very small button on one arm a few times, then took them off and put them on Keith’s face. “There. Subtitled reality. They autotranslate about twenty planetary languages of the far universe. And English.”

Keith’s eyes widened as Hunk’s words appeared along the bottom of his field of vision – subtitled, as he said. “Thank you. Did you just come up with these?”

“Nah, I’ve had them around for a while actually,” said Hunk. “Translation mostly. AND THIS IS PART OF WHY YOU TELL HUNK THINGS AT THE START AND NOT THE END, you got that?” He looked around, and despite the booming voice he really seemed more irritated and hurt than angry.

Acxa did him the honor of a salute. “It will be remembered, Yellow Paladin.”

“Good,” said Hunk firmly. “Now.” He turned back to Keith. “Why exactly are you purple? I distinctly remember you telling me you were not purple at some point.”

Keith blinked, adjusting the subtitle glasses on his face. The glasses did rather highlight his currently galra eyes; glasses weren’t something galra wore. He looked at his hand, though not apparently to see how purple it was; he examined the nails for claw-ness. “It happens sometimes when I get upset. Or apparently when Allura throws magic at me. Does it bother you?”

He was trying for nonchalant, but Hunk got the picture. Rather than try for words that would lack tone of voice, he just grabbed Keith in a big, spine-crunching bear hug. “Looks good on you,” he said, before letting go. “Now. Where’s Shiro at?”

“Shower,” said Keith, smiling a bit tentatively. “We were washing Kosmo. Shiro’s never given Kosmo a bath. So Kosmo thanked him. Shiro objected to his floof being vertical and spiky, so he went to wash his hair. He’ll be along soon.”

Hunk looked surprised. “I thought I made you a Kosmo cleaner already.”

“You did,” Keith agreed. “But he’s part of the crew too. I’ll wash him sometimes, when he needs the help. He’s in shedding season.”

“Oh,” mused Hunk. “You know I bet I could totally do a shed remover with some high powered suction, maybe some combs.” Before Keith could say anything, he’d pulled a tablet out and made some notes. “Always handy to keep a list of good birthday gift ideas. Where’s the others?”

“Green Paladin is en route,” said Acxa. “Lance is on the planet, gathering the assistance we need. And Coran.”

“Yeah,” said Hunk, frowning. “So you guys didn’t tell _Coran_ that Allura was alive, huh? Not even Coran?”

“That was what Allura wanted,” said Keith. “Though I think Lance is sorry he agreed to it.”

“He oughta be,” said Hunk sourly. “So help me I am going to get some kind of group call going at regular times just so we learn not to do this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?” asked Shiro from the doorway. His hair was still damp, but he was dressed and neat. He startled at Keith in glasses. “Those are new.”

“They subtitle,” said Keith. “No need for tablets.”

Shiro grinned. “ _Nice_ one, Hunk.”

Hunk grinned and gave Shiro a somewhat less spine-crunching hug. “I told you, call me if you need me. You guys have warped ideas of what constitutes need, apparently. I’ll get you a dictionary. You’re looking better. Working out?”

“Lots of space on this ship,” Shiro pointed out. “I might take over one of the rooms for weights or something.”

“So you’re staying on the Janus?” asked Hunk. “Good! There’s a lot out there you haven’t seen, and some of it’s really awesome.”

Shiro paused – he actually hadn’t thought that far, and his comment about a weight room was just a passing notion.

Keith saved him with, “He’s debating it, Hunk. Nothing’s decided. He’s still got a house on Earth and all.”

Hunk looked from Keith to Shiro and back again. Clearly, he did not know what to make of this data. The engine had stalled, and for once he didn’t have a guess as to root causes. He finally settled on a rather quieter, utterly lost, “...Sometimes the two of you are really something.” And then changed the subject. “Tell me my kitchen’s still working.”

“Seems to be,” said Shiro. “Although...if I could talk with you about possibly broadening its menu…?”

That made Hunk grin. “More than happy to,” he said. “More than happy to. Just tell me you’re not into fast food.”

~*~

Hunk took a proprietary interest in any and all of his projects, Shiro found. They got to the canteen and Hunk immediately started inspecting every aspect of the system for wear. “This was the first cruiser-level rehab I tried,” he explained to a bemused Shiro as he forewent lunch in favor of taking apart the machine that was supposed to make said lunch. “There’s definitely some refining needed – my later designs are a lot more efficient, leave a lot more room for menu choice. I’ll make the galra into gourmands yet.”

“...What about Sal?” asked Shiro. “You converted him.”

“Yeah,” said Hunk’s legs as the rest of him disappeared into machinery. “But then, he did have me chained to a pipe. There’s something to be said for extreme motivation. So how’re you dealing with California Grape Keith? No problems?”

“Cali – Hunk, seriously, where are you getting this stuff?” asked Shiro. He wasn’t even sure what that _meant_. Grape made sense. What did it matter what state it was grown in?

“Oh, sorry,” said Hunk, doing some unknown thing with a wrench he pulled from his kit. It was impossible to tell just what. “Earth television’s gone a lot further than Trebi, you know. Few hundred years of that stuff floating around space. Nothing quite like landing on a planet that’s seen _I Love Lucy_ , that gets weird _real_ fast. Especially when the locals look like giant centipedes.”

“I’ll...take your word for it,” Shiro decided, now thoroughly derailed.

“So, you and Keith,” Hunk repeated leadingly, grabbing a fistful of pipe cleaners and disappearing into the machinery again.

“No idea,” said Shiro. Part of him wanted to just shut this entire conversation down, or steer it back onto the relatively safer topic of grapes. But Merisan had said that a better answer would be talking to his friends, and while Shiro didn’t have that many, _surely_ the other paladins were the closest he could get. So, uncomfortable as it was, he gave it an honest try. Insofar as he could. “I think he’s been away from Earth too long. Forgotten the human side of himself a bit.”

“Y’think?” asked Hunk. “Because he’s really the only one of you guys I’ve spent much time around since the Lions took off. Mostly he’s worked the far universe, like me. Where the war did the most damage. Ah, there. That’s got it.” A panel was snagged by a hand and disappeared into the machine. “I can’t give you sushi, or sashimi, or anything else with a short shelf life. Not without a complete overhaul that includes room for some aquariums, and automated maintenance and feeding systems. But I can do you a good tuna melt.” He came out from under the guts of his machine, put the last panel back on, and wiped off his face with a cloth. “Sometimes it’s good for me to look at my earlier work. Nice warm fuzzy feelings about how much I’ve picked up since then. _This_ beast’s a total dinosaur compared to what I’d build now.” He patted the thing affectionately.

“A tuna melt sounds really good, actually,” said Shiro. “So...you two get along well then?”

Hunk blinked at Shiro. “Sure. Why wouldn’t we? We’ve been doing basically the same work, just different angles. The old Empire’s a complete mess, you know. The galra have been _trying_ to bring in the warlords, build some kind of unified government, but the civil war basically made every galra occupied world its own country. Mostly pretty shitty countries, to be honest. Even the ones with totally legit reasons for not wanting to go back to the empire lose out because the empire was their supply line.” He made a ‘six of one, half a dozen of the other’ sort of gesture with both hands. “Self governance, or food on the table. Choices like that make people mean. We’ve been doing what we can.” He turned and punched the codes to get lunch cooking, and flopped into a chair.

“You didn’t tell me this before,” said Shiro. “when I visited.”

“Kinda figured you already knew,” shrugged Hunk. “Or didn’t want to know. You did retire. Leave it all behind. Why tell you things you’ve made clear you don’t want to hear? But – if you’re moving onto the Janus, that’s a different story.”

“So...what do the Blades _do_ when they’re not spying?” asked Shiro.

Hunk stared. “Of course they’re still spying. I mean that’s really the core there. They watch everything because shit out there has a serious tendency to go from snowflake to ‘where the hell did Switzerland get to’ _real_ fast if nobody’s watching. But they don’t meddle with a galra-centric agenda even if they _are_ all galra. I think it’s Kolivan and Keith’s way of setting things right. The galra fucked up a lot of shit, so it’s on the galra to help put it right.”

“They could do that in the open, though,” said Shiro.

“Oh hell no,” Hunk snorted. “People remember who burned their homes and flattened their cities, Shiro. They _really_ remember when those same people turned their whole planet into a wasteland, enslaved the population, and made everyone miserable for a hundred generations. That kinda shit people really, really remember. So...Keith hit on that humanitarian aid idea. Come bearing food, no strings. People see the apologies, and the food helps keep things reasonable. And a few galra stay behind as contacts, and incidentally let Kolivan know if anything nasty’s brewing.”

“And you’re...okay with this?” asked Shiro, frowning. It didn’t sound like Hunk’s kind of thing at all.

“Not at first,” Hunk admitted. “First time I found out half the galra students in my cooking school were Blade agents I ripped Keith a new one. That wasn’t so long ago, but I’m not surprised he didn’t mention it to you. He explained why though. I get it. They really are sorry, but if they wait around for people to stop being _angry_ at them, nothing’ll ever change. I do commission work for a lot of worlds out there. Water reclamation and purification comes up a lot. Basic food goo synthesizers – I hate food goo, but it’s a million times better than starving. And the Blades have pointed me in the direction of people that need my help kind of a lot.” He looked sour. “Hence me being _aggravated_ that it’s _my friends_ in trouble and not being given a call. I mean really. I make super awesome super long range totally secure consoles and _nobody tells me shit?”_

“You’re right,” said Shiro. “I’m sorry. I ...guess I did leave it all behind. It feels like ages ago.”

A little beep sounded and Hunk got up to retrieve their lunches, passing Shiro a plate. Tuna melt, toasted bread. Not gourmet, but not bad either. “It is when you think like a human,” Hunk agreed. “Most of the people out where things went down, though, live longer than humans. Ten, twenty years...that’s nothing when you put it against ten thousand years of ugly.”

The tuna melt was good. Really good. “And this is what you and Keith do with your time?”

“Up until you hit the skids, yeah,” said Hunk. “Not sure what he’s gonna do now.” He munched appreciatively for a bit. “I can tell you I’ve appreciated having someone else out there. Even if we didn’t cross paths more than once a phoeb. He was at least in range. The only thing in the skies that can take on a fully armed cruiser is the Atlas, and that stays by Earth.”

_Hit the skids_. That was one way to put it, certainly. “I guess I’d better make sure you’re up to speed,” said Shiro quietly. “I mean fully. Lance is going to need our help soon.”

~*~

  
Galra Keith by [@poplishirogane](https://twitter.com/poplishirogane)

~*~

Pidge flew one of her family’s ships – that is, a ship designed and built entirely by the Holts for their own use. It was small, and sleek, and in many ways a rather dangerous vessel to be near. It looked tiny even next to Hunk’s space jeep. Acxa was there to greet her, and show her the way.

Pidge, for her part, hadn’t been on a galra cruiser since before the war ended – so the trip was, for her, kind of like being mugged in memory lane. It felt weird not to see fighters everywhere, or sentries. The purple light was now pale blue, and that was the main indication that this wasn’t a typical cruiser. The other was the aforementioned utter lack of sentries. It was almost a ghost ship. She was relieved when Acxa paused by a door and palmed it open. The other side was warmly lit, and furnished, and at least within a long throw of human.

Except Keith was purple, clawed, fanged and wearing glasses. Pidge stopped dead in her tracks. “What. The. _Hell_ , Keith?”

He looked up, but not quite at her. He tapped his ear with a clawed fingertip. “Not hearing right now. The glasses subtitle what you say. So you’re going to need to be clearer. But – nice to see you, Pidge.”

“Wish I could say the same,” said Pidge. “When did you get dipped in purple? Did you hit galra puberty or something?”

Keith gave her a narrow-eyed glare that would have looked a lot more ominous without the glasses. “You’re one smartass remark away from being restricted to decaf,” he warned.

“Like I haven’t hacked a thousand galra cruisers,” Pidge retorted. “You want to lose bridge control on your own ship, you just keep it up. What’s with the _purple_?”

“Usually I can control it,” sighed Keith. “Allura did something to me when she knocked me out, and right now I can’t. So. Congrats. My other side is showing. Can we have the tactlessness contest some other time?”

That got through, oddly enough, and Pidge dropped into a cushioned chair. “It’s just kind of a shock, that’s all. Where are the others?”

“Hunk and Shiro are in the caf,” said Keith. “Having lunch or decommissioning the automat, I don’t know which. Lance is on Trebi, getting people together. Ezor’s with him. Acxa’s helping me, Zethrid’s minding the comms.”

“Zethrid,” Pidge repeated. “Why Zethrid?”

“Because if people don’t have a very good reason for interrupting what we’re doing here, she’ll just make sure they _don’t_ ,” said Keith.

“Mmm.” Pidge frowned. “I’d better give her some extra frequencies to monitor. Matt’s holding the fort for us, but if by some fluke someone tells the wrong officer where I am and what we’re doing, you’ll get a closer look at the new Voltron project than you’d ever like to have.”

“The princess is a threat to the Garrison?” asked Keith.

“Not half so much as the five of us getting together without involving the Garrison at all,” said Pidge. “They still think we can call the Lions back if we want to.”

“They never saw Shiro fly a lion,” said Keith. “Just Allura.”

“They know he’s a paladin too,” said Pidge. “The whole business with the Atlas. Trust me, they know. A day or two is all we’re going to have before someone comes poking.”

Keith looked ...tired. “And if I look galra it won’t help,” he said tonelessly.

“Nope,” Pidge agreed. “So. What’s the timeline?”

“Lance’ll be back in a while,” said Keith. “Once he’s done what he can he’ll be back up here to tell us what’s up. Hopefully he can fix whatever Allura did to me while he’s at it. Tomorrow, we’ll get this done. And then you can go home if you need to.”

Pidge nodded thoughtfully. “Well. Since I’m here, and I’ve got nothing better to do until the big group meeting – Acxa, could you show me where you’ve stashed the comms? Or is it standard placement? While I don’t have to go through Garrison security I want to set a few things in motion.”

Acxa gave Keith a _very_ wary look, but Keith just nodded to her. “If anyone’s got the outlook of a Blade, it’s Pidge. If she’ll let you watch, take the opportunity.”

Pidge looked surprised. “Me? A Blade? I look terrible in purple. But sure, if you want to watch feel free.”

Acxa shrugged and followed Pidge out, intrigued.

Leaving Keith alone in the room.

He flexed his fingers, with their tiny little claws – only a few days’ growth after all – and thought _human_ at them. _Human, damnit_. But they wouldn’t change. His skin stayed purple, albeit a lighter shade of it than Axca or Zethrid’s.

Keith’s relationship to his heritage was complex, to say the least. He wasn’t ashamed of his galra features. They just made some things harder, at the same time that they made other things easier. It wasn’t the heritage itself so much as the code switching that was exhausting, and he really did not have time for it right now. He was _used_ to people assuming he was human and him having to explain the parts of him that weren’t. That was now in reverse – he looked like a galra. Now he had to explain how he wasn’t a monster. And it was much harder, because he’d never really been sure which parts of him were the human ones. And when he reached for human examples his pool of options was much smaller. Every Blade was an honorable being. They fought in the shadows and died to save others. But there were only four human Paladins, and those four were the sum total of human beings Keith had any trust or faith in at all. And he wasn’t much like any of them.

He took off the new glasses and set them carefully aside. Settled himself lotus style on the floor and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what Allura had intended – if anything – but the deafness made shutting the world out very very easy. Right now it had nothing to say that he wanted to hear, anyway.

~*~

After lunch, Acxa came to let them know Pidge had arrived and was looking at the cruiser’s systems. Hunk, who had honestly not seen Pidge in person in several years, scooted off to make sure she didn’t mess with anything he’d already messed with first.

Any thought Shiro might have had that this was a lucky break was dismissed with Acxa’s amused little wink over her shoulder as she led Hunk off.

Shiro considered wandering the cruiser, but wasn’t much in the mood. He was wondering at _himself_ , really. Making a weight room on the cruiser? Moving onto the ship? He hadn’t given any thought to either idea, so why say it?

_You need to get better at listening,_ remarked the second soul. _This is a good offer._

Ah. Well. Yes. That would explain it. At least partially. “Why?” he asked. “Really. You’ve never much cared for Keith.”

_Again with the not listening. Well, I_ have _been listening. He’s got a good setup here. And a good plan. The only reason he looks like a lazy ass is he’s set a lot aside to look after_ us _._

Shiro idly wondered at what point it was socially acceptable to have arguments with yourself. “What changed your mind?”

_Time to process,_ said the other. _I didn’t see it before because_ – and here there was the sensation of a lot being packed into one word – _Haggar. You were right. I screwed up back then._ He _was right too – I’d never have forgiven him if I’d had to_ stay _on the sidelines and watch someone else fly Black. Now it’s your turn to admit a truth. ‘Leaving the war behind’ is one thing. ‘Leaving the world behind’ is what we actually did. We would go_ insane _if we had to stay in that damn house_ playing _house for the rest of our lives. This is a good offer. We should take it._

Yep. Definitely arguing with himself. “It would be cruel to stay here if we don’t stay with Keith, though,” he pointed out quietly. “He’ll give us time, but if the answer’s not yes then it’s cruel to stay. We could do the same kind of work independently.”

The second soul radiated aggravated, irritated impatience. _You love him, you idiot. You’re just still feeling fragile because of the years in the clinic. Trust_ me _. You love him._

“What about you?” asked Shiro, trying not to feel needled.

_Let’s start with basic respect. I can respect what he’s done so far, his plans and approach. He’s certainly turned Lotor’s generals around. Anyone that can turn Ezor into a force for good deserves some credit. Unlike you I really_ don’t _know him that well. But respect’s a good place to start and we seem to have that._ The other paused, sighed, and then added, _as a translation for the hesitant – I’m not the reason you’re dragging your feet. I appear to be the one kicking you in the ass to just_ do this _already._

“And the warnings don’t concern you?” Shiro pressed. “I’d think they would, considering what those two are capable of.”

_Believe me, they do,_ said the other. _Hence kicking you to get our collective ass in gear. Curing Allura’s a good start, but the force we’re going to need to keep a check on Haggar and Lotor isn’t going to be one tied to governments. We’re going to have to build an order of paladins. Like the Blades, only broader in its acceptance policies. Agents on every world, watching for the dark to come creeping back into the world, with tools to fight it when they see it. We are_ not _going to get that done tucked in a house on Earth being domesticated._

Shiro sighed. “Guess you _have_ been listening then.”

_Someone had to._ But the tone was amused, almost gentle. He’d made his point. _Now go tell him we’re staying. Write down your DNR statement if you have to get that out of the way first, but do it. We’re going to need our focus and a united front to get Allura back._

“Wait,” Shiro balked. “Just like that? A signature at city hall?”

The other soul had the emotional response of someone halfway out a door only to be grabbed by the collar and hauled backwards. _Are you shitting me?_ It demanded. _This is Keith we’re talking about._

“Just because he doesn’t think in those terms doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate the sentiment,” Shiro sighed. “It’s a human thing. He doesn’t often get reminded that he’s human too.” He could feel the other getting ready to argue and mentally put his foot down. “No. It’s not going to be a signature at city hall. Or at least not _just_ that. I have some ideas. For now, while I agree we need focus and a united front, I have other things to tell him that will give him that time.”

~*~

Hunk found Pidge at the navigation console, humming to herself as she entered lines of code. “Not your ship, you know,” he pointed out. “Also, we’re in orbit. Not the best time to go screwing with the systems.”

“Just seeing what could use a tweak,” said Pidge. “I mean if he’s going to be flying a galra cruiser around. This thing’s practically neolithic. One Olkari pirate and he’s toast.”

“I’ve been sort of reworking it one system at a time,” Hunk agreed. “When we’ve crossed paths, which isn’t all that much.”

Pidge didn’t look up from her work. “He does tend to go off on his own a lot. Lone wolf forever.”

“Uh,” said Hunk. “You did notice he’s got a crew and Kosmo, right? I think it’s more that he’s not used to the idea of being able to take something in for maintenance. He just waits until something breaks.”

“Point,” said Pidge. “Hey, where’d those space mice go, anyway?”

Hunk stared. “With Coran? I think? They might not’ve stayed, without Allura around to talk to.”

“Could use some tiny feet about now,” said Pidge, frowning at the screen. “Man. This thing needs such an overhaul. Shame I can’t take it back to the Garrison.”

“I’m sure they’d love that,” said Hunk dryly. “How’s the Earth First movement going?”

“About as fast as we postulated,” said Pidge absently, typing away. “Give it another decade and they’ll probably be a significant political bloc. Enough for the Garrison to have to make concessions. But we’ve got the Voltron-2 teams going. Just need a pilot for the Atlas. You don’t think-?”

“No,” said Hunk firmly. “Shiro’s not gonna get sucked into that. And Sam _way_ overbuilt that thing anyway. You should not build a cruiser that takes the power of several supermassive black holes _and_ a giant battleship class crystal to run. That thing’s always using too much power. For like _everything_. And they just ...let it, because it can transform sometimes. I’d pluck that crystal right out of it and build a new one from scratch. Besides. Keith’s _here_. So Shiro’ll end up here too. Probably pretty soon.”

Pidge sighed. “I mean on the one hand it’ll be good to get him off Earth. I won’t have to worry about the Garrison strong-arming him. But for him to leave Earth for _this_ ship? It’s gonna cost him all his credibility, with the Earth-First types. And it’s way too late to start building Keith a cruiser of his own.” She finished one program, set it going with a little triumphant smirk, and started another.

Hunk watched her work passively. “He’d never go along with them anyway. You know that.”

“Yeah, but while he’s the Savior of Earth he does still have cred with them,” said Pidge. “The Firsters were never going to credit Voltron with that. Alien ships built by aliens, led by aliens? Not their kind of thing at all.”

“Keith’s not an alien,” said Hunk firmly. “But...I hear you. It’s not about facts.”

Pidge’s fingers all but stabbed the keyboard. “Damn right it’s not. I could win a war of _facts_. It’s _beliefs_ I have a problem with. You can’t fight beliefs. Mostly you can’t change them either. Trying just makes them dig in harder. The best I can do is try to keep them out of critical roles.”

Hunk hmm’d. “Figure they’d come after Shiro once he leaves Earth? If he’s not useful he’s an enemy, kind of thing?”

“Hence me trying to increase system efficiency on this dinosaur in the time I’ve got,” said Pidge testily. “This thing’s fine for taking on a rogue warlord or a few pirate crews, but if serious firepower came into play he’d be screwed. You’ve gotta talk him into docking at Altea for a full refit. I _swear_ I’ll take vacation time and come out to do the software.”

Hunk nodded. “All right,” he said. “Guess while we’re both here and waiting, we should tackle what we can. Who’s your ghost buddy?”

“Ghost -?” Pidge asked, blank, then remembered about Allura. “Oh. Right. Uh. Acxa.”

“I’ll see if I can’t get Zethrid to help me,” nodded Hunk. “She could be a great extra set of hands.”

~*~

Shiro had no real idea where Kosmo went, when he wasn’t with the group. He wasn’t actually sure anyone knew, even Keith. The wolf was a companion, not a servant, which despite his size and clear wolf-like appearance, kind of made him more of a cat in social terms. Yet when Shiro did as the galra had told him and _thought_ at an idea of Kosmo in his head, the wolf did appear, in his usual small explosion of blue motes, ears perked forward to see what Shiro wanted.

“I...uh. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” He’d _just washed_ that wolf. There were leaves in his fur, which he certainly hadn’t gotten on board the ship.

Kosmo flicked one ear back, tilting his head. _This is what you called me for?_ Was almost audible in the wolf’s expression.

“Um. I just – wanted to see Keith, actually, do you know where he is?” Good god. He was apprehensive about asking a wolf – okay, a bear-sized teleporting sentient wolf – for directions. No, on consideration, a degree of apprehension was just being sane.

Kosmo seemed to get that Shiro was edgy about asking for favors. He padded forward and gave Shiro’s human hand a little lick, as if to say ‘de nada’. Then he padded to the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. _Well, come on._

Shiro obediently followed after the wolf, who led him to one of the ‘meeting’ rooms – patterned, apparently, after the dens they’d once hung out in on Allura’s castleship. Keith was seated on the floor, eyes closed, apparently meditating, with the subtitling glasses neatly set aside nearby. Shiro gave Kosmo a skritch. “Thanks,” he said.

Kosmo poofed again, and Keith opened his eyes. He did still look very galra, and at the same time...really didn’t. It was hard to pin down why, though. Lack of fur, possibly. Or that he was wearing decidedly Earth clothes – a red tee, jeans, the dark red jacket. Galra didn’t dress like that. He studied Shiro a bit, and then reached over to get the glasses and put them on. If anything it made him look like a human _cosplaying_ a galra, rather than actually being one. “Hello,” he said. The tone sounded depressed, and Shiro wondered if Keith had any idea how much of himself was showing in the voice he couldn’t currently hear.

“Something wrong?” Shiro asked, and watched Keith startle. So, no then. He wasn’t aware.

Keith shook his head. “Pidge having a bout of Pidge Diplomacy,” he said. “Nothing new.”

Pidge diplomacy? Pidge wasn’t diplo- oh. Three guesses what over and the first two don’t count. Shiro skirted the obvious and went for “Well. I kind of like the braid, really.”

Keith’s eyebrows went up at that, until he realized Shiro was joking. He smiled a little, then asked tentatively, “Does it bother you, to be two people? When people can only see one?”

_Oh, he’s good,_ the second soul remarked. It felt like the other felt ...called out? Pegged? “Sometimes,” Shiro answered. “More that _you’d_ do it than anyone else, though. I don’t know why. I never expected anyone else to be able to tell.”

Keith looked thoughtful. “Maybe because it was my choice that did that to you,” he said. “You’d expect someone to know the results of their own actions. It’s the reverse, for me. When I look human, people get edgy because they’re waiting for the galra to show. And right now,” he held up a purple, beclawed hand, “I keep wanting to shout that I’m half human, only...I don’t know how I’d convince anyone. Except you look at me just the same as always.”

Shiro came to sit down opposite Keith, so their knees were touching. All right, he thought at the other. If you’ve got a name you’d prefer, now’s the time.

_What?_

We’ll share Shiro. But a name just for you. You may know when he’s talking to you, but I don’t always.

The other was disgruntled to be put on the spot. _Ryou’s fine. Worked for the therapists._

Keith was watching him like he could at least tell a discussion was happening. So Shiro said, “You can tell us apart. You can still see both of us.”

“I don’t know about _still_ ,” said Keith. “I started sensing souls when Lance started working with me. And I worked at that, until I could tell them apart. So _now_ I can tell there’s two. I couldn’t before. Not reliably. Why?”

“When it’s just us,” said Shiro slowly, “I would be Takashi. And the clone is Ryou.”

Keith looked _very_ startled. And then blushed a sort of dark reddish-purple. “Takashi,” he repeated. “Ryou. Okay.”

Shiro’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t give many people his first name, or permission to use it if they knew it. Keith knew it, of course. But the way he _said_ it, the sound of it on his lips – there was no way he’d have said it that way if he could hear his own voice.

Keith could make a declaration of love sound like ‘piss off’. But he could also make ‘Takashi’ sound like ‘I love you with all my heart’. It was utterly unmistakable.

Actions being far louder than words, Shiro leaned in to kiss Keith on the lips. Just a chaste kiss, nothing in depth about it, but in the back of his mind he heard the other soul irritatedly snapping, _Did you forget he’s a_ virgin _, Romeo?_

He’d never kissed Keith. Not really. Light brushes of lips to forehead after a particularly disheartening day were as far as that had ever gone. Shiro drew back to see Keith quite frozen in place. Not afraid, but wide-eyed and very much in shock. The man quite clearly had _zero_ idea what to do with this particular new territory. Ryou’s comment became clear – not just ‘virgin’ but genuinely clueless. He’d never done more than kiss anyone in his entire life, and even kissing had led only to trouble.

In the back of his mind, Ryou was metaphorically whacking Takashi upside the back of the head with a rolled up newspaper. _I don’t know what you intended to do, but ‘fuck up royally’ is what you’ve actually done._

Shush, Takashi admonished, still watching Keith carefully. I’m not using The Words on him until he’s got some kind of reason to actually believe me.

_At the moment I think he’d readily believe you’ve taken leave of your remaining senses,_ sighed Ryou. _And for that matter so would I._

The other soul might have been right, at that. After several motionless seconds, Keith brushed his own lips with the tips of his claws. “Why?” was almost croaked. His galra-yellow eyes were transfixed on Shiro.

Actions. Keith always based his judgments more on what he saw happening than the words people put with it. Shiro wasn’t sure if this would work, or even _could_ work. But he did know it was worth the attempt, and he also knew that voicing his doubts at Keith would only be heard as ‘this will explode, do not invest’.

It was a lot like therapy, really. You went into it not knowing if it would work, or if you’d ever be ‘better’, but you committed to it anyway because it presented the option of a tomorrow that was worth getting out of bed for. It didn’t _guarantee_ it, but you didn’t have a chance at it any other way.

So when Keith asked why, Shiro replied, “When this is over – when we’ve got Allura back, and all that. I’d like to move onto this ship, with you. If that’s all right.”

Keith made a little choked sound. Evidently his throat had closed up, because he started coughing, and eventually just answered with nodding. Putting his hand on his throat he tried humming. “You – have therapy,” he managed after a bit of that.

“I can talk to the doctors from here,” said Shiro. “I’ll let you know if I need to go back to Earth for a while.” He frowned, gesturing to Keith. “Should I not have -?”

Keith all but _lunged_ at Shiro then, grabbing his head in both hands to kiss him. He wasn’t experienced at it – that was pretty clear. But what he lacked in experience he more than made up for in enthusiasm and raw passion, and he was more than strong enough to hold Shiro exactly where he wanted him. When they came up for air, Shiro was very glad to be sitting down; he wasn’t sure his legs would work for a minute.

There was a little smug glint in Keith’s eyes that suggested he’d noticed, too. _You wanted someone that could keep up,_ Ryou reminded him dryly.

“Y’know, I go flying all over the planet,” drawled a voice from the doorway. “I’m talking to people, making plans, taking charge – got Coran by the way, he’s filled in – generally being the black paladin of this little operation. Come back here to do a light bit of quintessence healing and the _actual_ black paladins are playing kiss-in-corners while there’s work to be done. Don’t mind me, guys. You get your smooch on. I’ll just go save the universe from my girlfriend.”

Lance in full snark could soften steel at fifty paces; it was more than enough cold water to restore the room to normal. Shiro gave Keith’s thigh a little squeeze – mainly because it was in range for it – and got to his feet. “I see _you’re_ in a good mood,” he replied, adamantly refusing to in any way be embarrassed.

If Lance were the sort to ever in any way be intimidated by Keith, though, he would have run and hid at the sheer _calculation_ in Keith’s expression. Vengeance would be had. Sooner or later. For now he settled on, “Oh, if you want to go it alone, I can probably get your girlfriend to undo the damage. She did say all I had to do was stop helping you.”

Lance froze. “You wouldn’t – damn. No. You would. Okay, come here. No headaches, I take it. Unless all the kissing was for the endorphins.” Keith shook his head, stonefaced. “Okay. Hold still. It might pop, or something. Is the purple her doing too?”

“Just the being stuck in it, I think,” said Keith.

“Right. Well. I’ve worked with you before, so I know what your essence is _supposed_ to feel like – oh hell, she really fucked you over.” Lance looked worried now. “Uh. You should lie down.”

With a glance at Shiro as if asking for support, Keith obeyed, stretching out on a couch big enough to let Zethrid nap. Shiro took the hint, staying nearby. Keith’s trust issues had probably been tested enough for one day as it was. “So what happened to him?” he asked Lance.

“Ehhh,” said Lance, holding out his hands over Keith’s body as if feeling the air above him. “Alteans have a bunch of weirdass words for all this and all the translations sound very new-agey. I think she was feeling a little threatened that Keith can switch back and forth between human and galra. So she turned that ability off, and locked him in galra form. Look, this may take a bit. You might want to practice your quintessence sense stuff and see if you can feel what I’m doing. I’m not sure I can explain it beyond ‘I’m trying to unlock the things she locked’.”

Keith’s trust issues were definitely on edge. He was watching Shiro, not Lance. He probably knew his problem trusting Lance to actually be helpful was skewed; he was trying to see if _Shiro_ trusted Lance to do this.

_Let him,_ advised Ryou. _Lance isn’t good at gauging his physical abilities but he’s rarely wrong when the questions are purely intuitive. I should’ve listened more often than I did._

I hope you’re right. Shiro honestly didn’t remember any personal encounters with Lance’s intuition, but then Lance had flown Blue for him, not Red. He took Keith’s hand, giving a little reassuring squeeze.

Lance began moving his hands, the marks on his face...not glowing, per se, but becoming vivid, the tint getting stronger. “...Huh. Did you know galra bonds are metaphysical?” he asked. “I mean, not huge, but there’s an actual quintessence connection between you two. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t worked with Keith before you got here. You should focus on it, Shiro. It’ll probably help.”

_It’s got to be you,_ said Ryou dryly. _Pretty sure it’s not me._

Takashi tried, focusing not on seeing Keith but on sensing him, the essence of him. He _did_ sense _something_ , sort of. Like...knots. Tension. Of course, Keith was genuinely pretty tense right now, so that didn’t take much of a leap.

“Gonna try for the hearing first. So nobody scream or anything,” said Lance, and moved his hands to the sides of Keith’s head. He quickly had to get an actual _grip_ on said head, because Keith jerked, looking nauseated. His breathing became more ragged, harsh, as if he were fighting down an urge to vomit. Shiro held his hand tightly, and was gripped just as tightly in return.

_Guess he’s three for three in ‘kissing people rapidly goes sideways’,_ Ryou noted ruefully.

I can deal with that later, Takashi replied distractedly. He could _feel_ the turmoil in Keith’s body. Lance was absolutely doing something. It felt like tugging on the curves of a knot, trying to find a loose strand that could be used to untie it. Except that the knot was Keith’s...soul, or spirit, and every tug was also tugging on Keith’s equilibrium. Keith’s eyes were open, but pretty obviously not able to focus on anyone. So Shiro closed his eyes, and focused on Keith’s hand in his, and on that stomach-churning turmoil that was getting worse as Lance had to tug harder on it. Shiro could hear soft little choking sounds from Keith and knew them for the sounds you learned to make when it had been ingrained that you weren’t allowed to scream.

_I’ve got you_ , Shiro tried to send at that chaos. _It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you._ Just this once he could at least _try_ to do something, even if he couldn’t tell if it had any effect. _Damnit, help me,_ he thought at Ryou.

Ryou did _not_ have the same relationship with Keith that Takashi did. Respect, the beginnings of friendship – based largely on Keith’s actions in just the past few years, as they’d never really spent much time together or talked. But it didn’t take love to have compassion for someone in pain, and while Ryou tended to be more guarded about showing it he _did_ care for others a great deal.

It was a genuinely bizarre moment to suddenly feel wholly unified and whole and _powerful_. In that moment he could feel the connection Lance had mentioned and he sent comfort through it, and sleep. He thought about sunsets, rich warm light fading into twilight. Keith’s hand in his went slack, and he heard Keith’s breathing become slower, steadier, deeper.

“Just like that,” said Lance, distracted still. “Whatever you’re doing, just keep doing that.”

So Shiro stayed, focusing on just that one thing – sending sleep, and comfort, and very determinedly not thinking anything else about the situation, because he knew when he did he’d split back into two. And there would be a price to pay, as there had been before when he’d been with Curtis; somehow being unified stripped him of any internal defenses. Dug up anything that had been buried, or hidden. He’d spent _years_ sorting it all out, but if there was anything left it probably had to do with Keith, so he wasn’t going to count on a quiet night. He let the hours pass, until Lance let go of Keith and tried – very wobbily – to stand.

“That’s got it,” said Lance, sounding like he’d just run a marathon and then entered a weightlifting contest with a side order of bikram yoga. “She – she worked him over a lot worse than I thought, but I fixed it...”

Ezor caught Lance as he fell over. For once her smile had no sharp edges to it; she was genuinely impressed, and genuinely grateful. Shiro looked around and saw that everyone had gathered to watch. Zethrid came to respectfully lift Lance out of Ezor’s arms.

“I’ll get him to his room,” she rumbled, and the others parted so she could leave.

“So...you can do magic now?” asked Pidge in a small voice.

“Your hand was glowing,” Hunk confirmed. “Like Lance’s hands were.”

Acxa’s question was more to the point. “Will Keith be all right now?”

Shiro looked down at Keith. He looked wholly human again, although a bit paler than was good for him. No fangs. No claws. “I think so,” he said, though in truth he wasn’t actually sure. He was guessing, based on what Keith and Lance had had to say.

Ezor was eyeing the door. “...If it cost prettyboy this much just to fix our captain, do we really have the firepower to pull a ghost altean goddess out of the heart of the universe?”

“We’re going to find out,” said Shiro firmly. “Do you want to go with Zethrid and keep an eye on Lance? He’s probably going to wake up hungry.”

Ezor smiled. “I’d like to, but it’s one Blade per guest right now.” She nodded at Pidge.

Acxa agreed. “We can’t risk Allura lashing out at any of the paladins. Lance may be your focus, but the paladins are the only surviving beings with a direct connection to her. That connection is key.” She turned to Hunk. “I will take Zethrid’s place as your protector until this is done.”

“Keith can’t actually do his own guarding, though,” Hunk pointed out.

“His knife will flash,” said Shiro. “And I can hear Allura. I can keep an eye on him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * DNR statement - ‘Do Not Resuscitate’. A list of conditions wherein if the signatory is unresponsive, permission is given to the doctors to allow death.


	42. Here Comes The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura returns, but the joy is bittersweet.
> 
> Reiterating for the patient - I said _happy ending_ and I meant it guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some interesting analysis in the comments led me to offer some clarification on the events of this chapter that may or may not prove useful to readers. I try not to do this often, but this chapter draws on small events from several episodes of the canon and my resultant conclusions. So I would suggest if you are at all 'bwuh?' or otherwise confused about how I got this chapter, to please read the comments at the end.

Keith woke slowly, like bubbles rising out of tar. He was almost getting used to feeling Shiro’s arms around him, the warmth of Shiro’s body curled against him. It certainly made the question of when to get out of bed more difficult to answer.

He could hear again. That was pretty easy to tell; he could hear his own breathing, and Shiro’s, and the soft hum of the distant engines of the cruiser, and the gentle whoosh of the air circulation system. He reached out with his thoughts, feeling for souls, and realized it had to be night – everyone in their own rooms, with the three Blades on guard in each. After consideration, Keith tugged a hand free of the nest of Shiro-and-blanket. Pale again. No claws. He thought _galra_ at it, willing the shift, and the purple and claws returned. _Human_. Purple faded, claws receded. Definitely back to normal, then. Experimentally he ran his tongue along his teeth; the fangs had receded too. So he was back to the usual, practiced types of code switching and didn’t need to learn a wholly new set just yet.

That just left the surprises of Shiro moving in, and Shiro kissing him. Granted, Keith was no kind of expert on relationship dynamics, but he did have to wonder what was pushing things. Shiro was _cautious_. Careful.

Shiro had _kissed_ him. And had not objected to being kissed back. Where did _that_ fit into ‘cautious’?

Or was this what normal people did? Keith did not, honestly, know any normal people. He was vaguely aware there was some kind of ‘normal people’ standard, and that wherever the list of normal people was kept he wasn’t on it, but he had no idea what qualified you as ‘normal’. Lance and Allura had kissed...probably? Also probably not _lately_ , but lack of kissing probably wasn’t a priority lately. Hunk visited Shay every now and then, but whether that was normal or not probably had to take into account however Balmerans did things. And Pidge was...Pidge and the Holts probably used some specialized scale.

Keith let it go with a sigh. He had no idea what was normal, and no idea if this fit into normal. He’d just have to trust that Shiro understood what he was getting into, and focus on his own side of things, which was figuring out where ‘kissing’ now fit into who they were. Most of it he could probably just ask Shiro about, but his _own_ limits he probably needed to work on. When Shiro had kissed him, that felt good. When he’d kissed Shiro, he’d found himself wanting to do more things very quickly. It was probably just as well Lance had arrived when he did.

It wasn’t that Keith didn’t know, as it were, the mechanics. He’d run across a _lot_ of porn in his foster days, in varying circumstances. He’d fostered in houses where the older kids were definitely fucking anywhere they could get away with it. And there had always been porn around the cadet barracks, although generally of a far tamer sort than he’d been used to seeing by then. He’d even overheard a few conversations between Shiro and Adam that Shiro would probably be _really_ surprised Keith remembered. No, he was pretty clear about the mechanics. It was the personal application that was new. It was being the focus of Shiro’s attention that was new.

Keith settled into Shiro’s sleeping embrace, brought Shiro’s human fingers to his lips to kiss. Hail to the new.

~*~

Shiro had come to bed expecting nightmares. The two souls had merged, for a little while, and that had always set off nightmares in the past. And there were dreams, at first – the vat of purple quintessence that was Ryou’s first sight, the days each of them got their arms cut off. But they were only bad dreams, now. The sting was gone. And after a while so were the dreams.

He found himself in the house they’d shared with Curtis. Sited in the pacific northwest, built to deal with the cool winds and rain. It had reminded Shiro of childhood homes, and Curtis hadn’t been picky as long as the interior was dry. The layout was mostly open, with movable paper-and-wood screens to create privacy where desired. The furniture was mostly a compromise; Curtis liked big overstuffed fluffy furniture, where Shiro tended toward styles more often found in Japan or Sweden.

But Curtis wasn’t here. Instead, it was himself. Or almost himself. Ryou wore his hair a little differently, and there was a violet glow deep in his eyes. He favored the Altean arm that Sam had made for them. Said arm grabbed one of the light Ikea chairs and pulled it over to sit on, backwards. “We should really talk.”

Takashi sighed. “Probably,” he agreed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Moving forward,” said Ryou. “Today was something of an eye opener, wouldn’t you say?”

Takashi looked down at his own arm; his was the newer, non-weaponized model Sam had made. “So the bond is really real.”

“Probably only one way, too,” Ryou agreed. “He’s said he can’t sense any greater detail from us than he can from anyone else, and I’d swear he knows that because he’s tried. But neither of us is Galra. And don’t start.”

He meant he wasn’t inviting questions about his created-by-galra nature. Takashi just nodded. “Giving us a key to his house isn’t the same as us giving him a key to ours. But you’d be against that anyway, wouldn’t you?”

“At the moment,” said Ryou levelly, “Yes. But that’s not all we’ve got to decide. We’re up to our eyeballs in mystic Alteans who can probably _create_ a version of the bond for us to share when we’re up to that. The question is what we do _today_. How we use this to accomplish the mission at hand.”

Which was a cold way of putting it, but Ryou was more emotionally distant than Takashi. It made him a better tactician, but not as good a friend. “The plan Lance outlined is fairly simple. It should work without us doing anything,” he gestured to the space between them, “internally strenuous.”

“But we’re going to,” said Ryou. “Because it’s on us, as much as Keith, that we didn’t stop her when we could have. So.” He mimicked Takashi’s gesture. “How are _we_ going to do this? Lance’s plan has us with the paladins. But Keith’s going to be with the other Blades, and our connection is to him.”

~*~

Lance slept like the dead, and when he woke up he really wished he hadn’t. His body ached, and his head felt three sizes bigger than his skull. It was not really how he’d wanted to wake up the day he finally, _finally_ , got Allura back. Disgruntled, he sat up – and only then realized he’d been stripped down and tucked into his bed. Looking around, he saw Ezor _smiling_ at him. Not the sharp ‘it’s fun to make you squirm’ smile he’d _almost_ gotten used to. A different smile.

And then she handed him coffee, really good, definitely-from-actual-Earth-beans coffee, and he didn’t really care how she was smiling. He wrapped both hands around it and inhaled heaven. “I traded with Zethrid once Pidge was asleep,” she said.

The coffee had painkillers in it. Lance was already feeling a lot better. “O...kay?” he said. “Any particular reason?”

“What did you mean, about galra bonds?” she asked. “What did Shiro do?”

“Might have to ask him that,” Lance admitted, sipping the coffee. “I was focused on what _I_ had to do. But he did use his connection. I’m pretty sure of that.”

Ezor nodded, her one good eye watching Lance. “So. Tell me about that connection.”

Lance shrugged. “Close range, kind of faint. One way. Shiro can affect Keith, but it doesn’t seem to work in reverse. Pretty sure Keith would’ve noticed by now.”

Ezor nodded again, more thoughtfully. “So...do you think I could affect Zethrid? We’re consummated. It should be stronger. But it’s still – I mean I’m part galra, but not enough to bond with anyone. It’s all on her end.”

Lance remembered, although he wasn’t sure what ‘consummated’ meant in this context. He did know he wasn’t going to ask. He sipped his coffee. Damn good coffee. Much simpler than galra relationship advice, certainly. “I think you’ll just have to try and feel it,” he said. “When you’re near her. See if you can sense what she’s feeling. Then see if you can affect it.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the thought of Ezor – who was _definitely_ some variety of sadist – having quintessence control over anyone struck him as a really bad idea. But if it was there, it was already a done deal. Zethrid had made her choice a long time ago, and Ezor had accepted it. And really if Zethrid had a problem with Ezor’s tendencies, it probably would’ve come up long before now. “You’ll just have to try and see,” he repeated. “Only not today. The bond we’re working on _today_ is mine.”

Ezor nodded. “So it’s something more than galra do, then. Humans and alteans also do it?”

“Uh.” Lance mentally went over anything and everything Allura or Coran had ever mentioned. “I don’t think either of our species do that normally, to be honest. Allura and me, we’re kind of a bunch of special cases rolled into one couple.”

“So...you can create them, even when they’re not the usual way,” said Ezor. “D’you think you could help me bond with Zethrid?”

Now Lance’s jaw was on the floor. “I...are you sure you’d want that?”

There was a gleam in Ezor’s eye that spoke of kinks Lance didn’t even want to contemplate, never mind have spelled out for him. “She’d know what I’m feeling?” she asked.

Lance really wanted out of this conversation now. “...Probably?” he hedged. “I just noticed the bond was _there_ , Ezor. Shiro did the – whatever it was he did with it.”

Ezor grinned happily. Lance couldn’t help but notice the fangs. “When we’re done with the job,” she said, “I totally want to talk to you about doing that. With me and Zethrid, I mean. Like, as soon as you’re up to it.”

Lance debated asking _why_ , which was kind of a burning question at this point, but the problem with asking it was Ezor might in fact answer him, and that was a whole pile of mental images he never needed and didn’t want. “...Riiight,” he said. “But first things first, right?”

“Fine, fine,” Ezor agreed, amused. She really _wasn’t_ as sharp-edged with him as she’d been yesterday. Lance was sure of it. “Acxa’s set up the ready room in the cafeteria. When you’re ready. She said it’s a human thing that you think better near food.”

Well. Hunk certainly did, but Lance hadn’t had breakfast yet anyway and so wasn’t about to argue. “Right then. I’ll just get showered.”

~*~

When Shiro woke, to some surprise he found himself alone in the bed. Keith was already up, dressed, and carefully sorting out the tangles in shower-damp hair. He sat up, watching Keith. No overt signs of defensiveness; that was good. “You’re looking more your usual self today,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Usual,” said Keith, and his tone said he’d already considered the word _normal_ and discarded it. “How about you?”

“Better than usual,” said Shiro dryly. “I was expecting more of a backlash from yesterday, honestly.”

That got Keith’as attention. He turned in his chair, damp black hair in near-ringlets around his face. “Don’t get too comfortable. Things like that can have a delayed reaction sometimes. But...thank you. For what you did.”

“You gave me the key, Keith,” said Shiro gently. “Apparently that bond you gave me does have upsides.”

“It always did,” said Keith. Then, rather more carefully, “...Does this mean I can kiss you now?”

Shiro blinked. In his mind, Ryou started chuckling, then laughing. _Don’t tell me_ that _question was a surprise._ “It’s...like hugs, Keith. Context matters. But yes, you can kiss me if you want to.”

Keith nodded thoughtfully. “Is that where the line is, now?”

“For now,” Shiro agreed. “We’ll see where things go.”

Keith looked very thoughtful now, and Ryou was laughing so hard that if he’d been steering the body he’d be breathless already. _Takashi, I give it one week at most before he’s figured out how to frustrate you so badly you chuck_ that _little guideline right out the window._

_You’re taking an inordinate amount of pleasure from the sidelines, you know_ , Shiro thought at Ryou.

_We’re all ridiculous in love. Very few of us get the opportunity to see just_ how _ridiculous from an outside perspective,_ said Ryou with a sort of brotherly affection. _And you are in love, Takashi. The only question is really whether we’ve always been this oblivious._

Shiro blinked. That was a fair thought. He’d never really _chosen_ his partners, not really. Adam had just sort of...landed in his life. So had Curtis. So had Keith, come to that. One day he just...realized a relationship was happening, and then generally he’d taken charge to steer things in the direction he wanted. Much as he was doing now. But _someone_ had to make the first move, take the initiative. _You may have a point there._

Keith had apparently been thinking, too, but along entirely different lines. He got up, walked back over to the bed, and straddled Shiro’s lap, lips a fingerwidth from Shiro’s face. “I won’t intrude on Ryou’s time,” he said quietly, “and today we need you both. So this is for Takashi.”

And Takashi couldn’t help but shiver a little at just the _way_ Keith said his name, the raw love in it. He hadn’t gotten miraculously better at kissing overnight, but clearly he’d had time to think about what he wanted to do and was testing it out. The kiss this time was softer, less overtly urgent. Like a gift being offered. _Love_ being offered. When Keith drew back he put a smaller kiss on Shiro’s lips before getting off his lap.

  
_art by[@tifa_sugar](https://twitter.com/tifa_sugar)_

__  


It took several seconds for Shiro to find his voice again, all the while Ryou was chuckling with dark amusement in the back of his mind. _A week at most, I’m telling you._

_Not arguing_ , Shiro decided. Keith had been hard as a rock, hips pressed against Shiro’s stomach – but keith was used to _ignoring_ that. Shiro very much was not. _Very cold shower this morning,_ he decided, to Ryou’s continued amusement.

_I’d offer to make it a contest,_ Ryou remarked. _See which of us can resist longer. But frankly I think that one’s waited long enough as is. Get moving. Pretty sure he’s well aware how turned on you are – let him have this round and get on with it. We’ve got princesses to rescue._

Cold shower. And soap. Definitely. Shiro rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, while Keith set about putting his hair in a braid.

~*~

Pidge wasn’t exactly a morning person as such – she was more of a retrained night owl. Mornings were a habit enforced by her alarms, which she’d kept coming with her because she’d have to go back to work the morning after getting home. The shower helped, as did Zethrid (Zethrid? It had been Ezor when she went to bed) leading her to the cruiser’s dining area.

It didn’t surprise her that Hunk was already there, laying out plates of breakfast options. Nor did she care, because she needed coffee to care. She beelined for the pot of that, poured a very _large_ mug of it, and found somewhere to sit to drink it. She’d consider food _after_ she had braincells. And Hunk cooking always made a room feel welcoming. The galra that had come with Hunk – she vaguely recalled his name as Krum – was sitting off to one side, somewhat unhappily, and apparently trying not to cause trouble or get volunteered for anything.

“Stress baking, huh?” she asked after her first mug was mostly empty.

“Something like that,” Hunk agreed. “I’m on solid ground with machines. Today’s going to be full of magic. I mean I’m glad to be here, just to see Allura come back. But I dunno how much help I’ll be.”

“Same,” yawned Pidge. “Though seeing Shiro’s hand glow like that does mean today will be interesting.”

“Oh, it’s _already_ interesting,” said Lance, entering the room with Ezor. “Glad to see you guys, sorry I wasn’t all that talkative last night. I’d promised Keith I’d fix his hearing as soon as I got back.”

“De nada, man,” said Hunk, holding out a tray of tarts. “Breakfast?”

Lance snagged two, one in each hand, as Ezor went over to Zethrid and led her off to a corner, whispering. “Only an idiot would turn down your cooking. You two ready for today?”

Pidge finished her first mug of coffee, got up to get a second. “What exactly are we doing? You know we’re not much for magic.”

Lance called over to the galra, “You guys got something like a whiteboard, tablet, something to show plans on?”

Zethrid, looking a little flushed in a manner that Lance chose firmly to ignore, said, “Yeah, we got something. Hang on.” She left Ezor’s side (Ezor looking rather smug) to go to one wall, tapping an unobtrusive panel with her claws. A console slid out. “There, that’ll project to the middle of the room.”

Lance finished his tarts – literally eating two-fisted, and getting bits of pastry on his hands, but he didn’t seem to care beyond not getting jellied filling on the console. “Okay. So.” Tappitytappitytap. “This would be the plaza of lions. If you two want street cred on Trebi as paladins, once we’re done you can stand still and let stone statues come purr at you there. But it’s also where we’re meeting everyone. There’s six statues.” The locations were highlighted as points of a hexagon. “We’re going to take positions around this hexagon, only not precisely. Because I’m going to be in the center, here. You, Hunk, Shiro, Coran and Keith take positions along the sides of the hexagon. The next ring out,” and now a ring was put around the hexagon, “that’ll be my mystic friends, and whoever they’re bringing. The call’s gone out all over the planet, but Trebians rarely need to _hurry_ anywhere so it’s an open guess how many will be there this morning or how many more will turn up while we’re working. And between us and the mystics will be the Blades, but they’ll be closer to us than to the mystics.”

Lance paused to clean off his hands, snag another pastry, and some more coffee while he was at it.

Pidge, frowning at the display, said, “So...mystics for power, Blades to – what, defend? And what are we doing?”

“We’re the last people that know Allura personally,” said Lance quietly. “Not just casually, but – you know, actually _know_ her. When I give the signal to start, I need you guys to focus on her. On your friendship with her. Wanting her to come back. And connect with each other, too, the way we used to do when Voltron needed power. We’ve done this before. It’s just instead of waking up Voltron, we’re reaching out to Allura. We’re going to be the lens that focuses the power the Trebian mystics can give us.”

“And the Blades?” asked Hunk warily.

“If we succeed in pulling Allura out of where she is,” said Lance, “The first thing I’m doing – the _very_ first thing – is pulling that mote out of her like we should’ve done ages ago. The Blades can destroy it once it’s out of her. It’s what their blades are actually made to do. It’s why the Druids hated the Blades so much. I don’t want anyone else being corrupted the way Allura has been.”

“Question,” Ezor interjected. “You were out cold after healing Keith. Can you _do_ this?”

“Actually...yeah, I think I can,” Lance agreed. “We’ve barely heard from Allura since she attacked Keith. I think I know why. She _really_ lost her temper at him – and I mean there’s a lot of reasons why that might’ve happened? Keith’s good at pissing people off sometimes. But the point is, she lost her temper and then she used a _lot_ of power to punish him. And that’s had the dual effect of making her scared of herself _and_ exhausting her power for the moment. If we move quickly I think we can do this. She won’t _want_ to fight as hard as she can. And she won’t be able to, either.”

Ezor frowned. “Uh. Didn’t you mention she created this whole place? And Altea? And Daibazaal? And lots of other places probably? Why would she be wiped after attacking one galra?”

Lance blew out a breath. “She’s been...changing. When she did all those really big things, she was ...dreaming. Call it dreaming. But the closer to ‘awake’ she got – and this has taken years – the harder it’s been for her to do huge things like that. But that won’t last. If we never pull her out, she’ll eventually be able to use all that power while she’s awake. And by then the corruption will make what she chooses to do with it something we really don’t want to see. There’s a learning curve going on. It won’t last.”

“So we move today,” agreed Keith, from the doorway. Shiro was right behind him. “Where’s Acxa?”

Hunk thumped the side of the automat, and Acxa came out of a sliding section of panel. “Sorry,” she said. “Hunk gave me an instruction manual. I was trying to make sense of the machine in case we need to fix it ourselves. I _was_ listening. The group is up to date, Keith.”

“We’re ready to do our part,” Zethrid agreed. “That energy blob thing dies today.”

“Guess we carpool down to the planet when everyone’s awake and fed,” said Hunk.

~*~

Roughly an hour later, three ships left the cruiser to head down to the planet – the Fang, Hunk’s space jeep, and Pidge’s family ship. They’d sent word today was the day, and by the time the three ships landed gently in the park around the plaza of lions, a _huge_ crowd had gathered. Most were clearly civilians, people coming just because all the paladins of Voltron were here at once. But in and among the crowd were mystics, wearing pink and pale blue, their white hair making them stand out even more.

Coran was waiting for them at the plaza itself, flanked by his sister’s descendants. They’d dressed up – Coran in ancient traditional Altean formal wear, and Elisana and Gregory in simpler attire that nevertheless seemed more elegant to human eyes. Coran had an air about him like a dog awaiting its master coming home from the hospital – anxious, nervous, and trying desperately to hold it together.

Shiro went to him first, taking his hands. “We’re going to make it right. Focus on that.”

Coran sniffled. “I’m doing my best. Lance told me it was her idea, not to say anything. To – to spare me. Oh, I am going to have _words_ with her when I can. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“We’ll stand together around the little brass plaque,” said Lance. “Hold hands. Blades, around us. Where’s Fion?”

There was a _huge_ crowd. And many mystics. The group looked around for Fion, but not everyone knew her by sight. And then Kosmo poofed into view, and Fion – looking very startled – was standing by him.

“ _Good_ boy,” said Lance. “Thank you. Fion? Can you get everyone together and ready?”

The Trebian nodded. “If you don’t mind I’ll instruct our audience to do the same. They can’t manipulate quintessence, but they can share their own, and I think we’ll need all the power we can get.”

Lance smiled. “Thanks. Okay. Kosmo, go with her? Come back to us when she tells you it’s ready.”

Kosmo – much to Fion’s very startled surprise – gave a soft little affirmative _woof_ and then nudged Fion, who immediately started talking to everyone. Mystics in close, everyone else find a place to stand, be ready to assist...her voice trailed off as she moved into the crowd, which divided and sorted itself where she passed.

Acxa watched almost wistfully. “There are times I regret that galra are not so naturally cooperative.”

“It can be handy,” Ezor agreed, “but I won’t mind shaking this planet’s dust off my boots. Gets _really_ boring after a while, all this love and harmony.”

“I’m with Ezor,” rumbled Zethrid. “It’s good they’re cooperating, but I can’t wait to actually get back to _work_.”

“Take your places,” said Keith. “Whatever you do, do not let that mote escape, or possess anyone. But if it does, don’t hurt them. Tackle them and hold them, and we’ll pull it out of them as soon as the option’s available.”

Word was spreading around them. The crowd was starting to organize, mystics gathering just outside the ring of statues, and the spectators taking the space beyond that. Conversation-level noise gradually dropped.

Leaving just the six in the center, and their four Blade guards.

Keith and Shiro turned to Lance. “Your show,” said Shiro. “You direct.”

Lance swallowed, and looked up. He held out his hands. “Connect to each other. Like we used to do. And connect to Allura. Remember her. Who she was to you. Don’t let go of that for anything.”

They joined hands, not because Lance told them to but because it felt right to do so. Lance-Shiro-Pidge-Coran-Hunk-Keith-Lance. They closed their eyes, reaching, focusing. Around them, murmured commands to ‘begin’ and to ‘focus’ sussurated around the plaza, the air filling with a silent sense of power, of entreaty.

In the circle, Shiro was a little distracted by his other self. Ryou just _didn’t_ connect that way. He couldn’t. And it was frustrating him that he couldn’t do anything no matter how hard he tried, because like Takashi he felt responsible to a degree for Allura’s fate. He cared, but he couldn’t help.

_It’s all right,_ Takashi tried to reassure. _If you can’t connect with the others – then connect with me. If Lance can be the lens for Allura, I can be the lens for you._

Ryou was grateful – ashamed, but grateful. He reached, and connected just to Takashi. _Let’s get her home._ And then released his grip on his sense of self – arguably _the_ hardest thing for Ryou to do.

Shiro felt whole again, strong, powerful as the souls merged. But this time he was part of somethng more, and a connection greater than himself or even himself and Keith. It woke something he’d forgotten about. Something that had awaited that connection.

In the distance he heard the roar of lions.

~*~

Lance didn’t close his eyes; he didn’t need to, anymore. He’d been working toward this for years, since the day he’d realized Allura wasn’t dead, just sleeping, just distant. She’d given him all the tools to learn and the power to do something he’d taken them and devoted himself to just this one thing.

The crowd offered itself to the mystics, who took only a very little from each but took from everyone, added their own, fed that quintessence to the ring of paladins. Lance could feel their memories of Allura, their desire to bring her home, to see their friend again, and added his own love for her. His own memories, how much he’d missed her.

He reached inside himself, for the anchor of power that Allura had put there. Laid a hand on the quintessential connection she’d forged between them.

And _hauled_.

~*~

If anyone there that day had been independent of the great ritual taking place, just there to watch, it would still have been a day to remember.

The rings – paladins, blades, mystics, bystanders – were quiet, and at first the gathering might have been mistaken for a public prayer or meditation.

Then the Alchemist’s Lion began to roar, head thrown back as it perched on its pedestal. One by one, Black-Red-Green-Yellow-Blue the other lions, long devoid of color, added their mechanical roars to the chorus. Yet no one moved.

A tear formed in the sky above the circle of paladins, a shining silver figure emerging. At first too radiant to see clearly, as the light faded it also took on a shadowed tint. The figure was angry. The figure was anguished. It struggled as if the whole of the gathering was there to bind it, like magicians of old binding a djinn. Some of the spectators fainted. The silence was broken as mystics gave orders to focus, to hold the connection. In the sky the figure screamed rage. Screamed fear. Screamed loss.

Diminished. Sank, in the air, getting nearer the circle of paladins who didn’t move, didn’t waver. Behind them, the ring of Blades were drawn, extended. Waiting.

The figure struggled, screaming, the brilliance fading further. And now darkness threaded through what was left of the light. Streamers of it blooming from the chest of the figure, like tendrils. As one the Blades shifted to a ready stance.

Then the darkness was pulled from the figure and several things happened at once.

Below the bright but rapidly dimming figure Lance and Coran moved to catch her. She dropped, silent and limp, into their waiting arms.

The Blades leapt, as only angry galra can, high into the air to strike at the darkness. Their swings fended it away from the mystics and the watching crowd, but it stayed high until Shiro picked Keith up and _threw_ him at it with his robot arm. There was a flare of light as the blade connected to the shadow, like flash paper burning. By the time Keith landed lightly on the ground, not even a second later, not a trace of that light or the darkness was left to be seen.

The flare of light was some kind of signal. Some of the crowd dispersed; others tried to come in close, to see the altean woman cradled between Lance and Coran, protected by the circle of paladins.

~*~

They brought Allura to the palace – well, she _was_ a princess, after all – and set her up in the rooms given to Lance. Pidge went to the core to send a message to Altea, since at this point Queen Orla might possibly take offense to not being informed of events. Hunk tutted over the many degraded castle systems, but refrained from Fixing Things until Coran was up to discussing it.

Coran glued himself to Allura’s bedside. She looked just as she had the last time they’d seen her, which might have been due to Time Fuckery where she’d been, or just the fact that Alteans aged rather slower than humans did. Staff came by every hour or so to replace Coran’s box of tissues, empty the bin of used tissues, and get him more water. The tears were tears of joy, but they weren’t stopping any time soon.

Lance knew how he felt. He planted himself on the other side of Allura’s bed, but unlike Coran wasn’t crying. No, Lance had Allura’s hand in his. Just to hold her hand, hear her breathing, that was what he’d wanted for _years_. Not a ghost, not a dream. A real live person.

The others more or less took turns standing guard. The Last Princess of Altea was around and Trebians were _curious_. Many had seen at least part of the huge ritual and wanted to meet the person that had brought all the Paladins of Voltron to their world.

Some of the city artificers were putting brilliant enamel on the ceramic lions, while they had the full set of Paladins to know what color to put on which statue. The Blue Lion was identified by process of elimination. The pedestals were getting decorated too, stones inlaid in each so that there would always be an indication of the lion’s nature. The whole thing baffled the actual paladins, since the real lions were still gone, but it gave the Trebians something to do and something to talk about that didn’t involve bothering Allura, so no one tried to stop them.

And Shiro remembered something. When he could, he hunted down Pidge. “Did you guys remember to replace the crystal in my floating arm?”

“Yeah,” said Pidge. “It’s in a case on my ship, actually. There a reason you want it _now_ – ohhh.” She paused. “We gave that one to you already.”

“Yeah,” said Shiro. “I just wanted to check that the arm would work, while I was thinking about it. Did Lance keep -”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Pidge tiredly. “He’d have kept her used tissues if there’d been any. Of course he kept it. Whether he thought to bring it with him’s another question. You go get the crystal. I’ll see about finding the circlet.”

~*~

Keith did not stay in the castle. There was seeing Krum off – a transport to Earth, to tell Kolivan and Romelle what was up, and then from there wherever Kolivan assigned him next – and there was dealing not with the Trebian public, but the palace officials, who wanted to know just what had happened and who the altean woman was.

Keith was not a natural diplomat, but he’d had a lot of practice. He talked with them patiently, explaining everything he could and that no, this was in no way a coup, and then disappeared with Kosmo for several hours. One of the castle staff had said there were giant flesh-eating worm things deep underground.

When the generals asked where Keith had gone, they went worm hunting too.

Shiro, when he heard about it, decided to take over the diplomatic work. While he knew Keith would appreciate company on his hunt, he also knew Keith would appreciate _not_ having to deal with a political morass even more. Shiro had never loved it, but he knew he was better at it. Charm was something he could turn on at will, and it turned out Trebians were quite susceptible to it.

The feeling of something being unlocked when they’d freed Allura...well. It could wait. Would have to wait.

Coran’s family...tried to stay. But they weren’t very comfortable in the castle, and didn’t know any of the paladins _or_ Allura, so they told Coran they’d be waiting at home, and left. It was anyone’s guess whether Coran noticed. Allura had been Family for much longer.

By unspoken agreement the paladins took over every bit of furniture in the quarters Lance had been given. When they needed to sleep, they slept there. And they slept in shifts, so that someone was always awake to watch over Allura.

~*~

When Allura opened her eyes, it was night. The windows were open, and a cool breeze blew in, stirring up the scent of juniberries. For a few moments, she wondered if _everything_ had been a dream, and she could get up and find her father and mother sleeping down the hall. The disorientation didn’t last long. Not least because something held her hand. She sat up – somewhat stiffly – to see Lance bent over the bed, half-seated in a chair, using her hand for a pillow. Looking around, Keith was lying on Shiro who had taken over a couch, Pidge had tucked herself entirely into one overstuffed chair, and Hunk had apparently brought some kind of folding camp bed in to sleep on.

And Coran sat at her side, looking like he’d been crying for days. “Welcome back, Princess,” he whispered.

She was sure she should be angry. She...hadn’t wanted to be here, had she? There was ...something she had to do. But Coran looked _so glad_ she was here. And everyone – _everyone_ – seemed to be camped in her room. So they’d been worried. “I’m glad to see you too, Coran,” she offered.

He looked like he might burst into tears again. He settled for taking her free, non-Lance-pillow hand in both of his. “Please don’t ever do that to me again, princess. Please.”

It should have been a scold. It came out as a heartfelt, near-broken plea. Allura wasn’t entirely together yet, and wasn’t sure what to say to it. She curled her fingers around Coran’s, squeezing gently. “I’m here now,” she said. “But ...so tired.”

“You just rest,” said Coran. “We’ll all be here for you.

That’s what family is.”

~*~

Allura woke briefly a few times over the next few days. Pidge had to say goodbye during the next one – she really, _really_ didn’t like leaving the Garrison unsupervised for too long, and Matt couldn’t do so properly and still do his own work.

Queen Orla returned as well, with her daughter, and Shiro had to spend several hours reassuring her that there was genuinely nothing political about this. The paladins had simply wanted to rescue the last of their number and needed the mystics of Trebi to do so, and if she really wanted Allura to leave Allura would probably do so once she was well – but did she _really_ want an ancestral cousin to leave?

And Keith managed the basic logistics of keeping everyone who wanted to stay by Allura on a rotation that let _them_ eat, sleep, bathe, and occasionally also do things away from her side. Not that Lance was at all, in any way, inclined to do so – but Keith threatened to call Lance’s family if he didn’t agree to at least basic self care, and that ended that argument.

Hunk set up basic medical equipment from the Trebian hospital, figured out how it worked, and taught the others, but mostly he stayed simply because he wanted to and could.

It became increasingly evident that Allura didn’t remember much of her time as a goddess, which made talking to her about it rather tricky.

“She’ll remember when she’s ready,” said Shiro. “On some level.”

“You didn’t remember that one year until after the war ended,” said Lance. “What if she never remembers?”

“I’m not an expert on magic,” said Shiro. “Or how Altean minds work. But if she doesn’t remember on her own, there’s probably a reason for it. I’d call it a mercy for now. She did some great things, but also at least a few I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be proud of.”

“No kidding,” Lance sighed. “I’m just glad to have her back. We should probably like...convene on Earth or something for that idea you had, since Pidge can’t get away for long.”

“And because the Blades will need to be an integral part of it,” Shiro reminded him. ‘Yeah. We’ll meet on Earth. But I don’t think Hunk’s going to leave until we’re sure Allura will be all right. Do you want Keith and I to go, too? So you can be relatively alone with her?”

“I’m not really worried about it,” said Lance. “It’s been so long it was just ...it was great to all be together for more than a memorial dinner. To really do something.” He paused. “Speaking of. You changed, during the circle. I could feel it. There was like...normalish power, and then,” he made a ‘foom’ gesture. “Lions roaring. What did you do?”

Shiro...shifted, slightly. Less relaxed, but not tense. Just alert. “There was something I never mentioned that – happened. During the war.”

Lance tilted his head. “I’m listening.”

“When we were doing that plate mending mission, with the solar flares, I kept,” he sighed. “Having flashes. Like I was seeing through Haggar’s eyes. While she was fighting Oriande.”

Lance frowned. “She what?”

“Allura was right, you know,” said Shiro. “Oriande was defended. Not just by the white lion. There were all kinds of tests, traps meant to catch someone like Haggar, stop them from stealing its secrets.”

“Clearly not _enough_ traps,” said Lance dourly.

“Just not _clever_ enough traps,” Shiro corrected. “Because I think Haggar used _me_ – her connection to ...to my clone body. She used me to get past them. During that mission. I kept flashing to her and the tests.”

“But you didn’t have the marks of the chosen,” said Lance. “I remember when we visited Oriande.”

“Lance, how could humans have marks of the chosen?” asked Shiro. “Aside from you. We don’t _have_ markings that the Life Givers could use as a signal. We all went in together. It could’ve been any one of us, or more than one, that Oriande was really rejecting. We’d never know the difference. But that isn’t my point. My _point_ is...Haggar used me to bypass the tests. Including the last one.”

Lance paled. “Wait, I remember what Allura said about the last one. You had to surrender your soul to the white lion.”

Shiro nodded. “Yeah. Well. I think what happened is Haggar fed it _my_ soul instead. She got the knowledge, but I got the power. I just don’t know how to tap it. Most of the time. But that’d be why the Alchemist lion roared for me, I think. It could sense I’d been through the Oriande trials.”

“That would make sense,” Lance sighed. “You’ve got a _lot_ of power there Shiro. Figure out how to use it and you could do the kinds of things Allura was always able to. I’m sorry I’m not much of a teacher.”

“It’s all right,” said Shiro. “You did what no one else could’ve done. You saved Allura.”

~*~

When Allura finally woke for more than a sentence or two, it was Shiro who was awake. Coran had taken the couch, Keith a spot on the floor near the wall, and Lance again had fallen asleep in the other chair by the bed, half-draped over her hand.

She gave him a sheepish sort of smile. “How long?”

“That,” said Shiro gently, “would depend on the last thing you remember.”

“Clearly?” asked Allura and frowned, thinking about it. “Visions. You’d all gone down to the planet for clear day. The visions were...frightening.”

Shiro’s eyebrows went up. “That’s all you remember?”

“Clearly, yes,” said Allura. “There are bits and pieces after that. I really don’t know how I ended up here, or where here is. And you all look older.” She sighed. “I’ve lost a lot of time, haven’t I.”

“Yes,” said Shiro simply. “But Lance still loves you. And we’re all here for you, although Pidge tends to operate long distance these days. What are you up to hearing?”

Allura blinked at him. “...I never asked what it must be like, to simply _not remember_ so much time,” she said. “I’m afraid I must apologize for that. I had no idea it was so unnerving.” At Shiro’s amused, patient look, she said, “Ah...perhaps start with the broadest outline? Hopefully something will start sounding familiar.”

“All right,” said Shiro. “Before everyone else wakes up and I have half a dozen helpers. The visions were probably the dark mote – you do remember pulling it out of that Altean, right?” Allura nodded. “All right. So. You took that mote into yourself, and...”

~*~

Several hours later, the sun came up. Lance and Keith both woke as the first rays came through the windows.

“...And you mentioned that Honerva and Lotor were now merged with the dark entity,” Shiro was saying. “And that you needed to stay where you were to fight it. And you and Keith argued, and you made him deaf, and purple, and that was really the last we saw of you until we got the means to pull you out.”

Lance sat up, ran a hand through his bangs, yawned and smiled. “Morning, beautiful,” he said to Allura. “Catching up on the news?”

Allura looked politely disturbed. “Er. Yes. I’m not so sure I _want_ to remember the details, now.”

Lance frowned at Shiro. Shiro just shrugged. “I didn’t want to remember either,” he said. “But the memories will find a way when she’s ready.”

Keith said nothing; he just found a chair to sit in while he listened, and absently combed out and rebraided his hair for the day; sleeping on it tended to cause a lot of hair to escape.

“The important thing is you’re back now,” said Lance. “You’re okay.”

“Actually, the _important_ thing is now we don’t know if she was telling us the truth,” said Keith. “So we have to assume that the last arguments she made were valid.” He sounded...tired? “Every wish has its price, Lance.”

“What would you -” Lance began, and stopped. Keith and Shiro were both looking solemn. “Too much. I get it,” he said. “But we _just_ got her back.”

“If I may ask,” said Allura, careful and patient but with a strong hint of ‘I am _in this room_ now people’, “what are you talking about?”

“You...warned us of things, while you were a goddess,” said Lance, reluctantly. “Gave us reasons why you _had_ to stay a goddess. One of them was that because Lotor and Honerva are part of the dark entity, the dark has a will guiding it now. It’s not mindless. And Honerva wants to return Lotor to life. That she can’t do it yet, because the dark only knows how to corrupt and kill, but she entered the rift alive just like we did, so she’ll work it out eventually.”

Allura looked ill. “I was there to stop that – and you stopped me?”

“Princess,” said Keith, “you took too much on yourself. I’m not saying you weren’t _able_. I’m saying we are a team. It’s not the same team as when we had the lions but it’s still a team, and if anything it’s gotten stronger and broader without ‘needing to fly a lion’ to limit it. The last thing you told us before you left us behind was that the universe didn’t need Voltron. It needed people. Well, _you_ need people too. Protecting the whole universe was never just _your_ job.”

“And you couldn’t have succeeded,” said Shiro gently. “The mote corrupts. More over time. You were already acting very unlike yourself. Violent. Paranoid. You mentioned reading Honerva’s logbooks once, how she changed over time. That was happening to you. If we hadn’t gotten you out, taken the mote out and destroyed it, you would have been another Honerva.”

“The universe didn’t need that kind of goddess,” Lance agreed.

Allura stared at Keith. “Princess of what?” she asked. “There are two worlds of Alteans and neither needs me.”

Keith blinked at her. “You were a princess when we thought there were no Alteans at all,” he said. “Why would how many Alteans there are matter to who you are?”

“You don’t understand,” sighed Allura. “It sounds like I did something that mattered. And now I don’t remember it, and can’t go back to it, and there’s nothing that needs me here.”

Lance looked like the entire conversation was turning his heart into the ball in a soccer match now. “...Queen Orla wants to talk to you, when you’re up to it,” he said carefully.

“There’s a lot here that needs you,” Shiro corrected her. “But you’ve only just woke up, and losing your memory is disorienting. All I’ll ask of you right now is that you have a little faith in your friends, princess.”

He got up, unobtrusively snagged Lance, gestured quickly to Keith to come too, and got both the others out of there. “We need to talk.”


	43. A Cherophobic Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little of everyone adjusting to new realities.

“We left Hunk and Coran back there, you know,” said Lance, frowning as Shiro closed the door to the bedroom. The suite was just that – a suite, with separate bedroom, sitting room, and bathing room. Some of Lance’s clothes were scattered around though – mostly shoes and jackets.

“And I’ll trust you two to fill them in,” said Shiro mildly. “But I’m going with what I’ve got for now.”

Keith leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. This was Ryou leading, and he was still sorting out where to go with that.

Lance was still at ‘Shiro is Shiro’ and two thirds of his brain was in the other room at the moment as it was. “Fill us in about what?”

Shiro took a deep breath. “There’s a lot we didn’t do near the end of the war that we should have,” he began. “And mostly we had good or at least understandable reasons for it. We were all under strain. We’d all been pushed. Hard. For a long time. And the first thing you need to understand is, as far as Allura’s concerned _that’s still where she is_. She’s tired – exhausted, by the look of things. To her, the way the colonists were treating her was yesterday. She’s having to adjust to the fact that she has a ‘people’ now, that she’s not the last Altean – and that the Alteans may not want her as their princess. Not just because of what Haggar led them into becoming, or what Lotor led them into believing, but because the colonists have had time to move on without _any_ kind of single-person rule, and the Trebians already have a Queen. _Her_ people, the people she and Alfor remember, are still dead. Her species lives but that’s not the same thing. And honestly from her perspective it might be worse.”

Lance replied, “But she set that up! I mean – the whole thing, actually. The Trebians only exist because _she_ screwed with timelines to save them. The Queen’s like her...great great great grandneice or something, even.”

“As I recall you took it kind of hard to find out Sendak hadn’t just enslaved the entire population of Cuba, he’d killed off many of them in the work camps,” said Keith. “This isn’t much different. You’ve still got humans. You’ve just lost a lot of _your_ humans. Up the casualty rate to ‘all of them’ and that’s where Allura’s at. They’re her people, but they’re not _her_ people.”

It was Lance’s turn to cross his arms over his chest. “Just get to the point already.”

“My point is that she’s exhausted, isolated, lonely and depressed,” said Shiro bluntly. “And she may love you and I know you love her, but you _can’t_ replace everything she’s sacrificed with your love, Lance. It doesn’t work that way.”

“She’s going to want to go back to being a goddess,” Keith guessed.

“For her, becoming a goddess was all the benefits of suicide and none of the drawbacks,” Shiro agreed. “And if that sentence doesn’t make any sense to you then you have no idea where _her_ head is at just now. She doesn’t think she has a place here. Where ‘here’ is this _universe_. And no, Lance, introducing her to your family isn’t likely to help that. At all. It’ll just reinforce everything she’s lost.”

“I can’t stand by and do nothing,” snapped Lance. “I didn’t do this to make her miserable.”

“And no one’s asking you to stand by,” said Shiro calmly. “She’ll need you now more than ever. But _you_ need to bear in mind that she’s exhausted, depressed, and probably more than a little fragile. And she’s not going to admit it. That would be undignified. And she’s got royal cousins to impress and prove herself equal to now. Just...be glad she’s here, Lance. Let her see how happy you are to have her back. Show her around Trebi. Show her your gardens on Earth. Don’t talk about duty or responsibility unless she brings it up. Let her see it’s okay to take some time to _rest_ – the war’s long over. People have had time to rebuild. Take her to every damn street carnival and town festival you can find.”

Lance frowned, thinking it over. “Okay but what if she does bring up duty? She doesn’t have any.”

“She will,” said Shiro dryly. “She’s an Altean princess. It’s a safe bet she’s seen more and done more than Princess Elena, and she’s easily a more accomplished alchemist than Queen Orla. Romelle will throw her a party and then beg her to take over speaking for Altea, or at the very least help her with speeches and general diplomatic behavior. Let _her people_ place duty on her shoulders and no one else. Until she’s recovered enough, has grounded herself enough.”

Keith noted, “So you don’t want to bring her in on this new paladin order yet.”

“No,” Shiro agreed. “Not because I think she’s not ready, or wouldn’t want to. But all the rest of us had time after the war to rest and heal and _decide_ what to do with our lives. Allura went straight from the first war with Zarkon to the last war with Haggar. Most of her _life_ has been war. She deserves time to rest and heal and make the same choice we did. We pulled her out of the nexus on the grounds that we _would_ take up the job we were making her abandon. We’ll do that.”

Lance nodded. “Okay. I’m in. I won’t be able to do any work for your new order for at least a few months though, if that’s the lay of things.”

“Could easily be years,” Shiro agreed. “She needs the time, Lance. But as she picks up duties for the alteans, you’ll find you have time to kill. She won’t want you moping around bored, so when you do, look us up. And while you’re waiting, get Hunk to build you a ship.”

“I’ll fill Coran and Hunk in then. What are you two doing?” asked Lance.

“I made Keith a promise,” said Shiro, to Keith’s briefly visible surprise. “So...for now, I think we’re going back to Earth to pack up my house.”

Lance nodded slowly. “While you’re in that neighborhood, get my console from my house. I’ll keep in touch from here. And drop Pidge a line that if she tries making my family wait for wormholes when they want to visit me, I will absolutely recruit Veronica for vengeance. Provided she doesn’t beat me to it.”

“Good idea,” Shiro agreed. “The clinic’s got a console too, so if you want professional advice go ahead and call them. Just bear in mind they’re trained to deal with the _human_ psyche. They may not be a lot of help with an altean one, but they can probably be a great help to you specifically.”

“They are _definitely_ not experts on nonhuman brains,” said Keith firmly. “You want advice about alteans you’re currently surrounded by them. They’ll point you in a better direction if it’s Allura you need advice about.”

That got Shiro giving Keith a measuring _that came from somewhere specific_ look, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead he finished with, “Lastly – and probably most importantly – don’t think you need to do this alone. We worked together to bring her home. If there’s something any of us can do, call. Let’s not repeat her mistake.”

Lance gave Shiro a wry look at that, since they’d all been pretty guilty of it at one point or another. “Honestly...I’m going to miss having you here. You’ve been through some similar things to Allura. She could use that.”

But Shiro shook his head. “If and when she’s ready to see it that way, she’ll probably ask to talk to me. But right now, I think she’d just hear it as empty words. The human race is very much thriving, and hasn’t bowed to Zarkon _or_ Honerva. And even if it had, I’m not the leader of all humans and never was. Let her pain be her own, Lance. She never got to grieve everything that for her was lost in the blink of an eye. _Let her be sad about it_. And just...be there for her. You don’t have to Understand her pain to understand she’s hurting.”

Lance took a deep breath. “Gotcha. I think...before I go back in there, I’m going to go tell the chefs to try and make her a super traditional Altean breakfast. I’ve got no idea if they know what that is, but whatever they come up with will get the ball rolling. I won’t let her down.”

~*~

Allura, for her part, lay back against the pillows and enjoyed the relative silence of rising dawn. The room was so like her rooms before the war began, and at the same time very different. Yet it _felt_ very homey, not alien at all, and she wondered if that was because she’d really started to get used to being around humans.

She was so, so tired. And empty in a way she couldn’t put a solid finger on. _Drained_ might be a better word. And memory...wasn’t a blank, as such. There were fragments floating free of context in her mind, though currently lightly tethered by the overall history Shiro had told her. At her best guess, the more she’d relied on the mote’s power, the more she’d lost of herself. But she remembered fragments of goddesshood. So even at that point she hadn’t lost _everything_.

Shiro had said not to try and force herself to remember – that the memories would return when they were ready to, or she was ready for them. That could take decaphoebs, though, which felt...lazy? And yet – there was nothing just now that she needed to get out of bed for. It wasn’t shore leave, it was ...retirement? Could you retire without ever having had a job? All the work she’d done was now in other people’s hands. _What now_ loomed over the day.

The door opened, but instead of Lance, or Keith or Shiro, it was a servant bearing a tray. The smell was wonderful, and she wasn’t at all surprised that it woke the dozing Hunk up, or Coran.

“Her Majesty Queen Orla would like to see you in the throne room when you’re ready, ma’am,” said the servant, setting the tray down by her bed. “Informally.”

Which meant she wasn’t expecting Allura to dress up for the occasion. Which was good, as she owned exactly what she had on and nothing else. Coran tut-tutted. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to make sure you had court attire, princess,” he apologized. “I still know your measurements. I’ll see about placing some orders.”

Allura paused. That was...possibly a good idea? She’d really only worn court attire for Coalition briefings, out of respect to the others present. But she wasn’t sure this was going to be a regular thing. “Just one or two, for now, Coran. Let’s see what happens first.” The tray smelled lovely. On examination it seemed to be reinventions of traditional Altean foods, so she gave it an experimental try. Quite good, really.

She leaned back so Hunk could poach some of it. His verdict was, “Not bad. I’ll have to ask them what they used. Might want to add it to the school’s course work.” He nodded to Allura. “Glad you made it back. And that you’re you again. You want company, meeting the queen? She seemed okay, but I’m not going to let anybody be a bully at you.”

Allura smiled at the thought of Hunk bristling at someone on her behalf. “So you’ve met her then?”

“We both have,” said Hunk, gesturing to Coran. “We got her castleship’s systems working. Huge archive they’ve got. All the records of Trebi back to the beginning, and some stuff from old Altea too. So she kinda owes us.”

“Orla,” said Allura thoughtfully. “Very old name.”

“Your mother’s sister,” prompted Coran gently. “She was the first Queen Orla. This is her castleship.”

“ _Oh,_ ” said Allura, blinking. “Oh, I see. And this queen is…?”

“The fourth Orla,” said Coran. “Apparently they go every other generation or so. Alchemist. As far as anyone here is. They’re not trained. They couldn’t go to Oriande.”

Allura digested this. Fragments of memory gave her a castleship, pursued by galra cruisers, defending itself desperately. Opening a wormhole to anywhere. And reaching out to adjust the endpoint from ‘nowhere’ to somewhere specific.

Smiling came easily to Allura. It was important to make sure people didn’t worry. So she smiled. “I’m sure it will be all right.”

~*~

“Now?” asked Keith.

“Allura needs time to adjust,” said Shiro. “So does Lance. They’ll do it better with fewer people to juggle. So...yes. Now seems a good time.”

Keith grinned. “Shouldn’t take more than a day or two. If you’re selling the house, how do you want to handle it?”

“Honestly, I think I’ll let Curtis decide,” said Shiro. “He can live there or sell the place. I don’t think I’ll be back on Earth for a while.” He slanted a look at Keith. “But don’t think I’m leaving it behind. I want to come back at least once a year.”

Keith just shrugged. He was still processing Shiro moving onto the Janus. Bringing his belongings onto the Janus. Actually having the waking-up-next-to-Shiro be a regular, ongoing thing. Yearly visits to Earth were not even _on_ his list of concerns.

The generals had gone back to the Janus already, so Keith called Kosmo for a quick teleport since they’d taken the Fang. This resulted in the three of them dropping into the cafeteria of the Janus while the generals were sipping food goo.

“Back already?” asked Ezor. “We were just wondering what to do while you were all having your reunion.”

“Allura’s fine for now,” said Keith. “And Shiro’s joining us.”

“Full time?” asked Acxa. “So how are we adjusting ranks?”

Shiro raised a hand. “I’m not taking your place as Keith’s second,” he said. “Let’s just...wing this for a while. I’ll figure out where I can fit in best. But I’d like to get my things from Earth.”

“Moving furniture,” sighed Zethrid. “All right. But only if I can go hunting before we leave.”

“That’s fair,” Keith nodded. “But you’re not getting into another boxing match with a bunch of kangaroos. There’s bear and moose. You can try those, but take Ezor with you. They’re not easy game. _After_ we’ve got Shiro’s stuff moved.”

“I will ask Kolivan where we would be needed,” said Acxa. “Will you be working with us?”

Shiro nodded slowly. “If Kolivan doesn’t mind. I don’t mind wearing the mask if it’s important that it be seen as galra work.”

“It’s more likely that Kolivan will regard your presence as a valuable asset,” said Acxa. “The Black Paladins, both of them, working with the Blade of Marmora.” She headed off to the bridge to get the ship moving.

Shiro looked at Keith. “What _kind_ of valuable asset?”

“We’re just one ship, Shiro,” said Keith dryly. “And out of the loop for years now. Best I can tell you is we’re probably going to be a long way from Earth for a while – your reputation changes the farther we get from Earth, and ...bigger, usually. Earth just thinks you’re a war hero.”

“ _Just_ thinks that,” Shiro echoed dryly. “I can tell this is going to be interesting.”

“But never boring,” Keith promised, just as dry. “C’mon.”

~*~

Allura presented herself to the court of Queen Orla in the paladin armor she’d worn last, since she didn’t regard the bodysuit worn underneath it to be presentable for court on its own. Servants had cleaned and polished it so that it gleamed. Coran had his best court attire and Lance got a haircut for the occasion since he didn’t really have his armor or anything fancy with him.

“Your majesty,” Coran began, acting as Allura’s herald, “May we present Allura, Princess of Altea and Paladin of the Blue Lion, to the court?”

Allura inclined her chin politely to the queen. She had been intending to bow, but Lance stopped her with, _“none of us ever bowed to_ you _, princess. Paladin outranks everybody. And you’re a paladin forever._ ” Which Allura wasn’t sure she agreed with, but did seem to be true when she thought about it. She’d always just figured humans had terrible manners, but it _had_ kind of become accepted that everywhere they went, Paladins bowed to no one.

Orla at least seemed to find it amusing. “You may,” she said. “We welcome our esteemed ancestor to Trebi, and to this court. And regret that we were not here for your highness’ apparently quite momentous arrival. The city seems abuzz with the tale.”

“I thank you for your welcome, your majesty,” said Allura. “There is the question of what we do now.”

“I think that depends upon you,” said Orla, not unkindly. “Your return does raise some questions. Do you intend to return to Altea to rule?”

Allura spread her hands. “I do intend to speak with the people of Altea,” she said. “But if they have no desire for a queen, I will not be imposing upon them.”

“And your intentions here?” asked Orla. “I understand you were trained in Oriande.”

“I was,” Allura agreed. “I have no intention of ruling _here_ , either, cousin. Trebi is already in very good hands.”

It was hard to miss the sigh of relief that rippled around the room at that. Orla nodded slowly. “As an alchemist of Oriande, and a paladin of Voltron, and a member of the Royal House of Trebi, you are welcome here, princess. For so long as you wish to remain.” The old altean smiled. “We have _so much_ to talk about.”

~*~

The move was, honestly, the first time Keith had seen Shiro’s house. As such, while he and the generals were grabbing furniture and Kosmo was busily teleporting everyone back and forth repeatedly, Keith took every moment he could just to walk around the place. It was so _different_ from his mother’s house that Keith found it entirely fascinating.

Shiro caught him studying the view from one of the bedrooms – set up as a kind of reading-and-quiet-crafts room. The rain didn’t hit the window itself, falling instead from a long overhang into a rock-lined raingully that wound along the property in gentle curves. The view took in forest and distant mountains, and when the window was open the breeze smelled of wet greenery.

“I chose it, if that’s what you’re wondering,” said Shiro, finding him.

“I can tell,” said Keith. “Curtis seemed more of a city person.”

“Seems so,” Shiro agreed. “I didn’t think you’d like it, even if you came to see it. Too much water.”

Keith turned away from the view to blink at him. “What’s wrong with rain?”

Shiro shrugged. “Nothing. I enjoy it, myself. It’s very calming, meditative. I used to watch the rain fall into the gully, the little whitewaters as it ran down the path I’d carved for it, a miniature river. But somehow I’ve always seen you as a desert person. Bright sun, bare rock, dry heats.”

“I’ve lived all over the continent,” said Keith. “At one time or another. I survive in deserts best, but that’s more down to training and practice. Kosmo likes the forests.”

“When did you live in the Northwest?” asked Shiro, curious. “You never mentioned it.”

“Not a lot _to_ mention,” shrugged Keith. He consulted a wrist computer, pulling up a map of the area. He studied it for a bit and then turned it off. “We’re nowhere near the place, really.”

“The place?” Shiro echoed, frowning. “I know you had a rough time as a kid...”

Keith slanted him a wry look. “It’s the past, Shiro. And I’ve always been pretty good at looking out for myself. You’ve got a nice house here. Sure you don’t want to keep it?”

“Would you want to live here with me, at any point?” asked Shiro.

“I will live with you anywhere,” said Keith simply.

And there it was again; Keith was utterly devoted, but treated it as a fact of existence. There was nothing romantic about it; it would be, apparently, like getting overwhelmed because the sky was blue. The sky being blue was simply a fact of existence.

_You’ve got a weird criteria about this,_ noted Ryou. _If he swooned and made poetry out of it you’d think he was unstable. He just_ declares _it and you’re sad there’s no poetry. He_ knows _us. This isn’t a fantasy to him, it’s logistics._

Meaning he knew where he needed to be, and the only thing to do was just make sure he _could_ be where he needed to be, apparently. Shiro looked out at the lush green and the falling rain, and tried to imagine Keith here. It didn’t work. Space there might be, but he couldn’t help thinking this was not a place to keep Keith for long. Keith lived in an environment that wanted to kill him, with people that thought actively _trying_ to kill him was fun and entertaining. Mud, wet, and cold were just aggravations.

Shiro grabbed another box of Stuff. “I think I’ll let this place go,” he said. “Time to try something new.”

~*~

“You and Keith and your two-pilot ships,” said Hunk, but he wasn’t annoyed about it. Much. “Sure. Fast, strong, lethal?”

“Balance them, but all of them,” said Allura.

Hunk made a note. “Give me about a dozen decaphoebs to get it built,” he said. “I’ll keep the notes on file, make adjustments to the blueprints as new developments happen. For ‘all three’ it’ll take both of you; one pilot will just have to have some sense of strategy.”

“You’re really keen on making ships for _everyone_ , aren’t you,” said Lance.

“Yeah,” said Hunk. “I want it clear that if someone sees all our ships in the sky at once they have fucked _up_. Not that that’d ever happen, cos Pidge, but goals are a good thing to have. You two chill here. I’ve gotta get back to work. And when Keith brings you that console, I’m telling you, Monsters and Mana every Saturday night. I _mean_ it.”

Coran smiled. “I’ve got my campaign notes, and I’ll explain how it goes to Gregory and Elisana.”

“I suppose it _would_ be nice to just relax into a game,” Allura mused.

“Game is nice, but I really want us to get back into the habit of talking to each other,” said Hunk. “We’ve got our own lives and work and all that and that’s fine, that’s great, we don’t have to live on top of each other or anything, but we do need to keep _talking_. About more than just work.”

Coran bowed slightly. “Well. I’m happy to help with that. I’m really enjoying getting to know my family, but I never wanted to lose the family I already had.”

“I promise, we’ll join in,” said Lance, laughing. “I’m looking forward to finding out what Keith wants to play, honestly. He doesn’t strike me as the ‘play games in your head’ type.”

“I’ll ask him when we’ve got the console set up,” said Coran.

~*~

Shiro’s rooms were done. Some of his furnishings had been set aside in one of the many empty rooms, and quite a lot of the stuff the crew had gotten on Trebi was now scattered among the ‘guest’ rooms. The Janus crew spent hours adding wood paneling to the walls, rugs to the floor, then adding paintings, scrolls, and furniture to the rooms until the only thing that made it clear the rooms were on a ship was the view of stars outside. The lighting was full-Earth-sun spectrum, dimmable as needed, and despite the fact that there were several furnishings, Shiro had a sense of _space_ such that the place felt fairly open and airy. It was, in its way, kind of an accomplishment.

“It’s pretty,” was Ezor’s verdict. “But kind of a waste, considering you’re probably just going to stay in Keith’s room usually anyway.”

“There’s more furniture,” said Shiro mildly. “But it’s not going in Keith’s rooms until we’re both sure about _where_ and _which_. And contrary to your beliefs, Ezor, I do sometimes need time to myself.”

It wasn’t _just_ that, of course. Making a unique space, exactly to his own specifications and no one else’s, made the room kind of a shrine when he wasn’t there. While Shiro did intend to stay on the Janus, life had quite often made an utter hash of Shiro’s _intentions_ , and the space might help keep Keith grounded if life chose to do so again.

She wasn’t wrong about him spending most of his time in Keith’s rooms in the meantime though. Shiro’s desire to take it slow had multiple sources – giving Ryou time to get to know Keith, and honestly, giving Keith time to adjust to being in a _relationship_. They’d worked together and played together for years before everything crashed, but that had been as pseudosiblings, and then as teammates. Relationships were slightly different animals.

And frankly, Keith had managed to bypass the hands-on sex education that most teenagers got to experience. Shiro felt it only proper that, as the more experienced of the two of them, he provide Keith a proper grounding in, as it were, _all_ the options. Since he made sure Keith came, and then let Keith reciprocate, Keith was only _mildly_ frustrated by the slow pace. Shiro was sure when he got to the end of the ‘curriculum’ things would get _interesting_ , because Keith was only willing to play the submissive while there was something new to experience. Once he’d seen how it could go, he seemed to switch right over into his new favorite game – seeing if he could get Shiro to lose control. Ryou, _deeply_ amused by this, had bowed out immediately. ‘Wouldn’t be fair, two on one’, was his verdict.

_We were one, with Curtis,_ Takashi mused. _Why not here?_

_Give it time,_ said Ryou. _You’ve had years to reach this point. I’d at least like a few months. Besides. There’s so much else going on alongside it. It’s not_ just _who we’re dating, now. There’s also...look, have you noticed how he’s changed? Take it slow all you like, Takashi. That bond of his is cemented. I’m sure of it._

_Cemented?_

_Consummated. I’m a little surprised he didn’t make noise about it._

Which was another thing, although possibly not a surprising one. Keith was not a vocal lover. Little breathless whimpers, very soft gasps or moans was the most Shiro had been able to coax out of him – like if he made noise, someone would come and ruin it. The lack of sound was made up for in an increase of intensity, which was intoxicating to a degree Shiro had not anticipated. Keith did nothing by halves.

~*~

Keith, for his part, was trying _very hard_ not to expect the world to implode.

Keith’s life had always been defined as ‘things go pretty well for a little while and then something explodes and everything goes to hell for extended periods’.

He’d been _happy_ , as a kid. He’d loved his father, and his father had loved him. And then the fire, and his father died, and life kind of went to hell for several years.

He’d met Shiro. Which – well, the start had been rocky and then adjusting to the Garrison had taken time, but for a while there he’d actually had a handle on things. Classes going well, hanging out with Shiro and learning new tricks. And then Kerberos had happened and _that_ went to hell.

Then Shiro came back, and they were all stuck together on the far side of the universe and for a while it had looked like Keith would have friends that wouldn’t _leave_ , until Pidge had made it clear that ‘far side of the universe’ or not, this was a temporary arrangement, and then the universe had spent several years trying to kill him. He could point to a few cases where things had Gone Right, but always temporarily.

And now this.

Now Shiro seemed to want to be with him. Moved onto the ship. Mentally healthy, physically getting stronger by the day, there really wasn’t much left to fantasize about that wasn’t happening already or happening soon.

Part of Keith wanted to inject Shiro with long range trackers. Something was _bound_ to go wrong soon. Pirate fleets attacking. Earth sending the Atlas after them. A galra warlord deciding the best way to claim the crown was to take out the last person it had been offered to. _Something_. And then Shiro would be gone again, and he might not have any way to know where.

It wasn’t rational, and he knew it, but it made him edgy. He focused on getting the furniture stored or placed, and then the trip to Lance’s gardens for the console there. He tried not to think too hard about the bond, about the way he’d started to feel _whole_ for the first time in possibly ever – certainly he couldn’t think of any time he’d felt this way before. Love he was used to. The frantic need to find Shiro or protect him – that was normal too, in its way, or at least no longer any kind of a surprise. But this?

This was whole, and right, and _strong_ , and therefore could not _possibly_ last. Something was going to _explode_.

Shiro cornered him once the Janus was back on its way to Trebi with the console. A light hand on Keith’s shoulder, just like old times. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t you tell?” asked Keith, partly bitter and partly because he knew he couldn’t explain it because it made no sense to start with.

He couldn’t feel Shiro ‘listening’. It was one of a number of bothersome things. But he could sense the souls in Shiro shifting as they conferred, his outward expression introspective. And Shiro pulled him in for a hug. Which at first set off every alarm bell in Keith – and then, slowly, quieted them. Shiro held him firmly but not too tightly. “This isn’t the first time,” he said. “You used to do this when you were little.”

“And things blew up,” Keith replied, staying put. He didn’t love that he was _this_ open a book, not when he wasn’t sure of where Shiro stood on things. But he couldn’t deny feeling better.

“Nothing good lasts forever,” Shiro agreed. “But nothing bad lasts forever either. I knew what I was committing to when I offered to move onto the ship. I’m not going anywhere.”

“ _Something_ bad will happen,” said Keith tightly. “If you don’t change your mind. We’ll be attacked. Or something will explode on the ship. Something.” He took a deep breath, tried to make the calm extend to his brain, because this was really just...nuts.

Shiro held him a while longer, turning ideas over in his mind. Something to say, or do...eventually he said, “Does this help?”

“Yeah,” Keith admitted, resigned. “I know. Crazy.”

“No,” said Shiro quietly, as if he’d worked something out. “No, it’s not crazy at all. Will you promise me something?”

Keith pulled back warily to eyeball him. “...Like what?”

Shiro gave him a wry smile. “Nothing perverted. Just – when you have an attack like that, when you’re afraid something bad’s coming and you _know_ it’s just your mind playing tricks on you...come find me? I’ll hold you until you’re in control again. Don’t try to think your way out of it. Just come to me. Okay? Let me do this for you.”

Keith’s mouth opened, closed, frowned. “...You’re sure,” is what he settled on.

“I’m sure,” said Shiro.

Keith ran a hand through his hair. “….Life’s going to be crazy around here for a while, isn’t it.”

“Until you get used to me being here, probably,” Shiro agreed. “Do you mind?”

Keith shook his head, but slowly, as if still thinking it out. “Ezor’s going to have a field day.”

“No, she won’t,” said Shiro firmly. “She wants to know how I can sense what you’re feeling. She pisses me off, I won’t teach her. She knows it.”

That made Keith blink. Then he worked it out. “Zethrid.”

“Yep,” grinned Shiro. “I’ll take the leverage. Shall we get this console installed for Lance and Allura?”

~*~

Lance was almost, but not exactly, in the same state as Keith. Allura was _back_. He had her back where he could see her, hold her hand, walk with her, really hear her voice. And all of that was the stuff his dreams had been made of for _years_ now. His newly-cut hair seemed to fascinate her, running her long fingers through the strands, and that was the stuff of at least his G-rated fantasies.

As they walked together through the royal gardens, Altean and Trebian and Earth flowers planted together, Lance watched her bend to sniff and touch blossoms as they passed. He didn’t make any moony comments about picking them for her, though he thought about it. She seemed lost, and sad, whenever he left her too long to her own thoughts. His instinct was to joke, or do something silly, just to see her smile again, but he was mindful of Shiro’s warning. He had to let her have her sadness; that was the only way it might ever pass.

But damn if he was going to leave her _alone_ in her sadness. He took her hand in his, and when they rested on a stone bench he let himself play with her hair as she’d played with his, making little braids to draw it back from her face. Queen Orla had suggested they take over one of the old houses near the palace; more than one noble family had died out over the millenia, or shifted status. Alteans tended to keep only a limited number of nobles around as wealth could only be inherited by the royal family. The Janus crew were putting the console in the house they’d chosen.

“I don’t think I can go back,” Allura said into the silence. “I wish I could, but I don’t think it’s possible.”

“Well,” said Lance, “It took all of us, Voltron, the Atlas and everyone on it, and something like a dozen balmeras...so yeah, I can see where we might not get you back to goddesshood. But we’ll manage.”

“The galra are really gone?” Allura frowned. “It doesn’t seem possible.”

“As a power, yeah, they’re gone,” Lance said. “They’re still around, but they’re more like a confederacy at this point. Lots of little warlords. And a few that are willing to work together. You’d have to ask Keith or Hunk about the details, they’ve mostly been dealing with it.”

“But no peace,” said Allura quietly.

“Where the Empire was?” Lance asked. “Not really. The alliance hasn’t got the force to defend everything from everybody yet. It does what it can, so mostly things are more scuffles than big wars. Why?”

“I suppose...I just thought if the galra were really stopped, there would be peace,” Allura mused.

Lance tilted his head. “That’s like Keith thinking if Zarkon were dead the war would be over,” he pointed out. “There’s ten thousand years of grudges built up out there. People who’ve spent their whole lives being slaves, being told the only way to get what you need is to take it from someone else, have the freedom to try it and the forces to try to get away with it. They’ve got to learn still that it doesn’t work long term – but when you’re calling ‘long term’ a thousand years, a lot of them would still tell you that’s long enough.”

“I could call Voltron back,” said Allura. “I can feel the Lions. I know where they are, they would come if I called.”

Oh. _Tempting_. Lance had to think hard about it. Eventually, he said, “You’re the one that hid them. As a goddess. You said it was better. That it was for people to make peace. And...I think maybe you were right? I loved flying a Lion. But the price of having Voltron around was everyone and their mother thinking Voltron was what you had to beat to rule the universe. We got Sincline out of that, and Zarkon’s crazy armor, and the Acolyte mechs, and now we’re getting the Voltron 2 project on Earth. Pidge has been making sure the new Voltron can’t stay combined long, but if you brought the lions back I’m pretty sure someone – maybe a lot of someones – would go back to thinking that’s the standard to beat. And we nearly lost everything to that. Maybe...if people _fail_...then it’s time for the lions. But we’ve gotta give people a chance first.”

“I don’t...know that I have the hope left for that, Lance,” Allura admitted.

Lance squeezed her hand. “It’s fine. I’ve got enough for both of us. And you’ve got me.”


	44. Monsters, Mana, and Paladins Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pan out gently, letting time flow a bit faster now. Events here take place over a fair chunk of time.

It was amazing, Hunk thought, just how long galra could live without the _tiniest shred_ of curiosity. Like, not even the _tiniest shred_.

Hunk had, at last, his ingot of luxite. The Blades kept their stores of luxite on a tight leash. The planet it came from had been destroyed long ago, they said. Each Blade had to be forged for a specific person, and only that person or someone closely related could use it. When the wielder died, given the nature of Blade work, quite often the weapon – and thus its store of luxite – were lost forever. But if not, then the blade would be returned to the order, and put through a purification process so that the ingots could then be made into new blades for new recruits. There were Blades whose entire mission was simply recovering the weapons (where possible) of those of their order who had fallen in battle.

Thus it had been for ten thousand years. The galra were resigned to the fact that this meant their store of luxite was gradually going down, and once gone it would just be _gone_.

At least, until Hunk patiently explained that actually, the stuff the blades were meant to destroy was still out there, and would one day return. Kolivan at that point had insisted the Yellow Paladin be ‘gifted’ with an ingot of luxite, to experiment with as he chose.

Hunk was careful with it. He was well aware that if he couldn’t replicate it, every ounce of the metal was precious. But he didn’t hesitate to run every test he knew and every test he could think of on the metal.

The first discovery was therefore one he immediately called Kolivan about. “Hey, uh, Kolivan...are you aware luxite is an alloy?”

The old galra almost showed an expression. “...No? What is the significane of this?”

Hunk tried not to sigh. “Okay. The first thing about it is yes, we can make more. If the Alteans are willing to help. The metal is replicable, but what makes it special is it’s bound to a quantity of quintessence. And not just the usual stuff either – look, if you’ll forgive me getting metaphysical at you, Blades are made with _souls_. And every time one of you guys dies with his blade in hand, the alloy gets _stronger_. The quantity you have could be multiplied at least twenty times just on the strength of the reforged ingots you’ve got, and still get basic functionality. I’d start modifying that crest to contain some kind of quantum tracker if I were you. Recovering blades makes all the blades made with them stronger.”

Once Hunk had sent a copy of his research over, the Marmora stopped complaining even under their breath about handing a precious luxite ingot to a human.

The trick, Hunk found, was finding a base metal that would react to other species. Galra were uniquely skilled at using quintessence _tools_. They didn’t really go in for direct manipulation the way alteans did, but when quintessence was infused into a _thing_ , they were really good at making the most of it. The base metal wasn’t one Hunk was familiar with, so he just called it ‘galrite’ in his notes.

Then he put in a call to the Janus. Four part-galra who could all interact with luxite. He figured he had a pretty good shot at isolating what was happening if he could study them working.

~*~

“I charge the hag,” said Keith, and Coran grinned.

“The hag’s image blinks,” Coran replied, “and you’ve run face first into a tree.”

“Hang on, I got this,” said Hunk. “Field of magic negation!”

Coran nodded, checking his notes. “The hag waggles her fingers, realizes her magic is useless, and starts to run away.”

“I draw back an Arrow of Binding,” said Allura. “And fire it at her.”

“The hag finds herself bound by your arrow,” said Coran.

“Really?” asked Pidge. “The arrow works in the field of magic negation?”

“The hag ran out of the field’s area of effect,” said Coran.

“Doesn’t matter, we’ve got the hag now,” said Keith. “Guess I’m carrying her. Extra meat pies when we get the bounty.”

~*~

“Never would have thought humanitarian aid was such a dangerous job,” said Shiro, panting lightly behind the safety of a giant rock.

“The jorians figure it’s much easier to get food if they take it from the fralians,” explained Keith, hitting a rock wall hard and sliding down. Wrenching his shoulder back into its socket with a grunt, he added, “Twice the food for a third more effort. ‘Course, it kills off the fralians.”

Shiro risked a quick look around the rock. The jorians had brought a tank. Or at least a machine that did the same job. “How much longer?”

“Ezor’s nearly in position. We just need to hold their attention a little while longer.”

Shiro nodded. He searched the ground for a bit, came up with a spike-esque chunk of granite, handed it to Keith. “You pull their attention this time. Just make sure that cannon doesn’t shoot you.”

Keith hefted the spike, eyed the tank, nodded. When Shiro signaled, Keith sprinted for the tank, staying low, and then leapt up to jam the rock into the barrel. Probably wouldn’t do anything but irritate the drivers, but that was the point. Behind him, Shiro unshouldered a rifle to take shots at the jorians not shielded by transports, and Ezor took advantage of the chaos to drop a small bag of live grenades by the entrance hatch of the tank and bolt. She blew a whistle, and Keith got the hell out of there.

Shiro caught Keith as he flew by, propelled by the blast, and pulled him behind the rock. Keith hugged briefly but tightly – part _thank you_ and part getting back some sense of balance. The destruction of the tank had the desired effect though – the jorian advance halted.

Acxa and the other generals used the time to converge on Keith and Shiro’s position.

“We haven’t had fun like this in _phoebs_ ,” said Ezor happily, highfiving an equally happy Zethrid.

Acxa was calmer, but her smile was still fierce. “We’ve halted their advance. They don’t seem to have brought a second tank with them.”

Shiro ran a hand through his bangs. “Think they’re ready to talk?”

The group paused to listen. For the _phoot_ of grenade launchers, or the hiss of rockets, or the sharp retort of gunfire. Silence.

“...Maybe their general was in the tank?” Ezor guessed, frowning.

After a few more minutes Keith peered out from behind the rock. “They’re retreating. You’re probably right; I think we nailed their leader. It’ll be quiet until they pick a new one.”

“Awww,” sighed Zethrid. “That means we’re back to delivering supplies.”

“Cheer up,” advised Shiro. “Depending on who the Jorians pick as their leader after this, we might be doing this again next time.”

“Unlikely,” said Acxa. “The Fralians are in danger of extinction if this keeps up. Kolivan will want to bring them into the alliance, so that alliance forces can protect them.”

Shiro looked relieved. “I have to admit it’s very strange working for an intelligent boss. Does he get along with Iverson?”

“Yeah, actually,” said Keith. “The only problem is, Iverson doesn’t run the whole Alliance. We should talk to Pidge about that.”

Silence continued to reign as the enemy of the day essentially packed up its kit and went home. With a sigh that the fun was over, Zethrid picked up Ezor and put her on her shoulder, and trudged back to the Janus’ landing site. The Fralians were already coming out from hiding, to receive the supplies they’d brought.

The others followed, to do their fair share of the moving-of-crates, but once on board Keith noticed a little flashing light on his mask’s viewscreen. “I’ve got a message,” he said. “I’ll catch up.”

He came back after fifteen minutes or so, and helped offload the supplies, and accepted a request to join the Galaxy Alliance from the Fralians, along with what they could offer in exchange for military protection. (Not much, as it turned out, but if Earth was looking to acquire international currency, they could do worse than help out here.)

Once the Janus was back in the black, Shiro nudged him. “What was the call about?”

Keith smiled a bit. “A request from Hunk. Thanks for reminding me. He’d like all of us to go head out to Altea. He pried a luxite ingot out of Kolivan and he wants to see how part-galra interact with the metal. Since that’s _all_ of us, aside from you, and he wants to develop a variation that humans can work with as a first run, we’re basically all invited to go hang around Altea for a few days, weeks, or months while he sorts the alloys out.”

Ezor sighed. “That sounds _so_ boring. Can we rotate it with actual jobs, please?”

“It’s a necessary step, Ezor,” chided Shiro. “It could mean Palleans can defend themselves against the dark entity.”

Ezor looked amused at that. “You’re assuming they’d want to. My people are kind of of the mindset that if it’s powerful and we can get a chunk of it, we’re all for it. That’s why you see so many Palleans on pirate crews. It’s just galra can usually crush us.”

“I think the Teifen would be interested, though,” mused Acxa. “I don’t have much teifen blood. I don’t know if my horns will ever grow properly. But what I know of them suggests a sense of honor. Not a lot of mercy, by human standards, but honor. The dark entity would be...cheating.”

No one asked Zethrid what the Bhiton would think of luxite weapons. They’d met the bhitons. Zethrid was, if anything, the calmest and most rational of them. Instead, Shiro said, “Well. It’d mean a lot to the humans to be able to fight druids.”

“We’ll go,” said Keith. “But we’ll rotate it with other work. Hunk can use the time we’re gone to compile data and create test weapons. He gave Shiro a little, almost private smile. “He already knows what design to use for yours if he can make it work.”

~*~

“The wizard raises his staff,” said Coran, “and points it at Shiro.”

Everyone else in the game seemed to perfect sychronized facepalming at once. Keith said, “That’s it. I get between Shiro and the wizard.”

“You know this happens a lot,” said Shiro to Keith. “I’ll just roll-”

“The wizard fires a blast of energy at – well, Keith now,” said Coran, checking something in his notes.

Keith grinned. “I use my sword to bat that spell right back at the wizard, while charging.”

Coran blinked. “I don’t remember your sword being able to-”

“Magic hardened blade,” said Keith.

“Oh,” Coran blinked. “Yes. Right. I’d forgotten.” Some dice rolled. “The blast hits the wizard for sixteen damage...”

“I’m just going to tackle Shiro’s knees while he’s standing there with his jaw open,” said Pidge.

“I’m staying behind this _rock_ ,” said Hunk.

“I’m going to cut that idiot wizard’s head off,” said Keith.

Coran rolled the dice. Quite a lot of dice. And studied the results. “Pidge tackles Shiro behind a rock, and before the wizard can prepare another spell, Keith has reached him and ...cut his head off. I must say I’d forgotten about that sword.”

Allura laughed. “For once it’s an early night that _isn’t_ because Shiro has to roll a new paladin.”

~*~

Pidge didn’t get out in daylight much. Too much to do, too much to keep an eye on. Today was unusual. Special, really.

“You’ll keep in touch?” asked Pidge.

“You mean, unofficially?” asked Veronica. “Of course. I’ve got your code book fingerprint locked.”

“I want video of everything,” said Pidge. “The _unedited_ version.”

“I promise,” said Veronica. “I didn’t think they’d give up on finding the right captain.”

“They haven’t,” promised Pidge sourly. “But they _are_ accepting that letting the Atlas just circle Earth in the meantime is a waste of its capability. And about time, frankly. You guys should be fine. It’s just two planets and neither of them is all that powerful militarily.”

“It’s not me who’s worried,” laughed Veronica. “You should see Griffin. He’s shaking so hard I’m surprised it’s not screwing with radio reception. First field test of the new Voltron and all.”

“ _Unedited_ video, remember,” said Pidge. “Good luck, Atlas.”

~*~

“You’re standing on a balcony, overlooking a huge horde of artifacts,” said Coran. “There’s enough magic here to do pretty much anything! Items the like of which the world hasn’t seen for ages.”

“Yeeeaah,” said Lance. “I’m going to check for traps. Hunk, wanna check for the magical kind?”

“On it,” said Hunk. “Detect magic traps!”

Coran rolled some dice, checked his notes. “There are a lot of weight sensitive plates in this area, suggesting that anyone taking something off the piles would set the traps off. The magical traps are on the doors. If the physical traps are set off, the magic seems intended to trap would-be thieves inside.”

“They’ve gotta be big traps, gold is heavy,” mused Pidge.

“You can come help me disarm them,” said Lance. “I lower myself on a rope to see if I can disarm the traps without setting them off.”

“I’m going to take cover back up the tunnel,” said Keith.

Lance rolled his eyes at him. “When was the last time I set off a trap?”

“Last week,” said Shiro. “You got my character hit with a polymorph ray, remember?”

“Details,” said Lance, waving a hand, but his grin said he did remember.

~*~

“That’s enough for today,” said Shiro.

Hunk was momentarily surprised, but nodded. “Yeah, we can take a break. Thanks, Keith.”

Keith let his blade shrink back down to a dagger, sheathing it. Too tired to complain, or even snark. Shiro went over to him, letting Keith lean on him for support and balance. This got an appreciative sounding ‘mmm’, but nothing coherent, and Shiro led them to a bench to sit down. Keith leaned against him like a big pillow, eyes closed, and Shiro put an arm around him. “So,” said Shiro. “What’s the verdict?”

Hunk was looking over the data. “Well. I’ll need to compare this against a full galra’s use to see if part-galra are limited or enhanced, but ...yeah, I think we can crack this. I mean I can probably get _you_ a blade a lot sooner, because alchemist, but humanity in general? Little trickier. The thing about the blades is the galrite’s really what reacts to galra blood. It’s what makes the metal so useful for galra prosthetics. I don’t know if there’s a human metal.”

“Tried titanium?” yawned Shiro. Keith dozing against his chest was _contagious_. “I mean when we put plates and screws and so on in human bodies, titanium’s usually what we like to use if we can. Or artificial materials like carbon fiber, plastics...”

“That’s mostly down to weight though,” mused Hunk. “Titanium, carbon fiber, they’re strong and light. Galrite’s just strong. By that measure we should be eyeballing _iron_.” He frowned, something occurring to him, and he tapped a query on his console. “I’ve got some ideas. Which are gonna sound really silly. So I’m not gonna share them just yet. But can you two be around tomorrow? I can whip up some prototype weapons for you to try working with, Shiro.”

“Sure,” said Shiro. “I’ll be interested in seeing it.” He looked down at Keith, who had fallen asleep. “Guess there’s a limit to how many blade tricks he can do in one day.”

“Sorry about that,” sighed Hunk. “It’s just...the others aren’t as interested in recruiting their other halves for this new order. So humans kinda became the priority, and he’s perfect for testing stuff.”

Shiro shifted position, and scooped Keith up in his arms – a prospect that meant lots of leg dangling everywhere, but Keith was still pretty wiry. “I get it,” he said. “So does he, or he wouldn’t have worn himself out. You get some sleep too, Hunk. Call us when you’re ready.”

~*~

“The goblin army has gathered,” said Coran. “Its numbers darken the hills. The goblin general rides up on his war-pig and tells you that the village will surrender or be destroyed.”

“I’m not sure the wooden palisade’s going to be much defense,” mused Allura. “It’s wood, after all.”

“I’ve done what I can to update the village’s siege engines,” said Pidge. “But a few trebuchets and catapults against this kind of force?”

Shiro said, “I’m charging.”

Lance’s jaw dropped. “Why? They’ll level the village!”

“They’re going to level it anyway,” said Shiro. “Remember the last task we did for the goblins? They don’t keep their word if it’s to their advantage to lie. They gain nothing by letting these villagers live. So they’re probably lying again, to get what they want without having to fight us for it. I’m charging.”

“You’re gonna spend the rest of the evening rolling up another paladin,” sighed Hunk.

“I’ll charge with him,” said Keith, to the surprise of no one.

“ _Two_ new characters.” Hunk sighed. “Ah, hell with it. I’m in. Maybe I can keep you two from dying.”

“I’ll cover you from the walls as best I can,” said Allura.

“I’ll get on that trebuchet,” said Pidge.

“I’ll cover Pidge,” said Lance.

The look on Coran’s face suggested the goblin general had offered peace because Coran really didn’t want to have to roll the dice for five hundred goblin soldiers. While he got started, Hunk chatted about his forging experiments.

~*~

They weren’t there to intervene – not this time. The hold was full of supplies, but Kolivan’s instructions were clear. Stay back and watch, and defend the supplies until it was clear they could be delivered safely. Everyone wanted to know what would happen.

“Welcome to the far universe, IGF Atlas,” said Acxa over the comm.

“You’re looking well, BMV Janus,” replied the Atlas – Veronica it sounded like. “How goes the war?”

“Just need to convince the Jorians that the best way to keep their people fed isn’t to beat the Fralians up for their lunch money,” said Keith. “We’ve beaten them off a few times, but they come back when they think the coast is clear.”

“Display of overwhelming force gotcha,” said Veronica. “Stand by, Janus.”

They watched as the ships – all fifteen, somewhat to their surprise – launched from the Atlas’ bays, descending on the fairly modest military display on the planet. On any kind of interplanetary scale this particular conflict was on the order of kindergartners perpetually scuffling in the schoolyard, but the Fralians were badly battered as it was. If their enemies weren’t pried off of them the people might die off entirely.

And of course, the Voltron teams needed a field test. No one doubted that cameras were rolling, recording the moment for study. Sea Team stayed airborne since there really wasn’t any water based conflict going on, acting as support for Air and Land teams.

“So...why an Air team at all?” asked Ezor, watching the fight. “I mean they all fly. But the Air team doesn’t do anything _else_.”

“They’re designed as exploratory vessels,” said Shiro. “They can all fly and fight, but when they’re _not_ fighting, each team’s supposedly got specialized equipment for studying its element. Air team’s got the most delicate sensors for studying atmospheres. All three teams relay planetary data back to the Atlas where scientists can study it.”

They watched from what in interplanetary terms was a polite distance; the Jorians didn’t really want to fuck with a galra cruiser, and sending in the Atlas and the new Voltron was seventeen kinds of overkill – but everything had to start somewhere.

“Really only five minutes?” mused Keith. “Almost feel sorry for Griffin.”

“Good tactical training,” said Shiro. “He has to learn to make the most of what he’s got rather than counting on an infinite resource.”

Keith slanted a Look at him. “Are you calling us _lazy_?” he asked.

Shiro smiled. “No. I think I’m just glad the brinksmanship isn’t quite so...brinky.”

Ezor started laughing. “ _Brinky_. Behold the mighty general, conqueror of worlds, people.”

“He fits right in with us,” Acxa decided. “And it would seem the new Voltron can handle the current situation. Although I think transforming was purely for intimidation, and the mech is not particularly attractive.”

“All recorded?” asked Keith. When a bored Zethrid nodded, he said, “Okay. Back to Altea then. I’d like to get the tests finished.”

~*~

“The barkeep tells you all that bandits have stolen the village’s sacred idol, and without it the village will have terrible harvests and horrible hunting until everybody starves,” said Coran.

“I cast detect evil on the barkeep,” said Shiro.

Coran looked nonplussed. “Er. Er. It...er. It’s evil,” he admitted.

“I grab the barkeep before he can run away,” said Keith. “I should be strong enough to hold him.”

“Half giant barbarian, I should _hope_ so,” said Lance. “I’m going to go through his stuff for the idol.”

Allura was laughing helplessly as Coran tried desperately to hide the fact that this was _not_ how the campaign was supposed to go. “What is the saying, Lance?”

“Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me,” said Lance, rolling dice for searches.

Coran gave up. “Fine, it’s under the bar,” he admitted huffily. “I had a whole dungeon plotted out, you know!”

“Cool,” said Keith. “Then I know where to stick this barkeep.”

~*~

Lance sipped what he persisted in thinking of as ‘hot cider’, although the Trebians had another word for it, as Allura leaned against him. The sunset was beautiful, although he did miss Earth. Trebi had become their compromise home; neither Earth nor Altea but with elements of both. And his family loved visiting. Local boy makes _real damn_ good; Lance and Allura lived in what could only be called a city mansion, carefully refurbished, centuries old.

What was _weird_ was Coran’s family installing themselves as their servants. That was _weird_. But alteans, culturally speaking, didn’t have nearly as many hangups about class as humans did. If Lance had been inclined to being a snotty asshole it would have been difficult and embarrassing and probably have ended badly, but he’d pretty much gotten all of _that_ out of his system before the war ever ended. All that was left – and it was a persistent, stubborn remnant – was the firm belief that the last thing he wanted while waking up pillowed on Allura’s lovely naked breasts was to see Coran’s moustache bounding into the room with coffee on a tray.

Explanations and pleas had not worked. Finally Lance had just had to put his foot down that this was a Human Thing and just _go_ with it, all right?

It had gone _almost_ as Shiro had predicted. Allura had been very quiet, depressed, and generally solemn for _months_. Always the picture of courteous elegance in public, of course, but more often than not she’d chosen to go to bed alone, in the mistaken belief that this way Lance wouldn’t hear her crying. A few times, he’d called the doctors for ways to cope with this, since he couldn’t fix it and it was very upsetting. This had resulted in their refurbished mansion acquiring its own greenhouse, where he mostly grew Earth flowers – wildflowers native to Cuba in particular. It was an esoteric enough branch of horticulture that while Allura was fielding requests from the Queen, or Romelle (who _had_ wanted Allura’s help with pretty much everything) Lance found himself introducing Trebian gardeners to the white butterfly jasmine and felt peculiarly proud of it.

And, slowly, it got better. The nights of crying got fewer, and farther apart, and she’d let Lance stay with her. He listened while she talked about the politics of the Alliance, and how things might get better, or what was making them worse. Knowing himself no politician he didn’t offer advice – but he did drop Pidge a line to share her concerns, which caused a few of the tangles that upset Allura to mysteriously sort themselves out.

But taking off to explore would have to wait. Allura was a princess of the royal house. Apparently, this meant that shacking up with a random dude from another world was Straining The Bounds Of Propriety, even if he _was_ a paladin of Voltron.

There was going to be a wedding. A royal wedding. Lance hadn’t told his mother yet. He kept meaning to buy a good set of earplugs first. She’d love the idea, of course, but the talk would then shift right over into grandkids and Lance was _not_ ready for that conversation.

For now, he had Allura – content, and not unhappy – leaning against his side, watching the sunset with him, and the Trebian version of hot cider.

~*~

“Nope. You can’t get in,” said Coran. “You’re a half giant, Keith. The entrance to the caverns is carved for dwarf sized people.”

Keith frowned. Shiro asked, “What about the rest of us?”

“Humans can squeeze in, but you’ll probably want to sit down in the mining carts,” said Coran.

“Go on ahead,” said Hunk to Pidge. “We’ll catch up. Or stay here. Whichever’s better for you.”

Pidge frowned. She’d gotten the lost heirlooms of her dwarven clan, but to claim her birthright she’d have to enter the mines and talk to the dwarf king.

“I’ll do this some other time,” she decided. “Let’s go get everyone some potions of dwarf transformation first. Then we can all go.”

“I might know someone we can talk to for that,” said Hunk. “But he’s gonna charge an arm and a leg.”

~*~

“Okay,” said Hunk. “I thiiiink I understand how this has to go. To get two weapons, you have to start with two weapons. And then fuse them together with quintessence. Like when Atlas fused with Voltron. So. It’s not standard blade making practice for a lot of really good reasons, but I’ve chosen an alloy of titanium and electrum for a human focused blade. But I can’t merge them. I’m not an alchemist. And for this to work, Shiro, it’s got to be a human alchemist. So it’s got to be you, or at most you and Lance.”

Keith studied the weapons. Hunk could be a traditionalist, it turned out. The weapons he’d chosen for Shiro were a tanto and a katana. He wasn’t surprised that Shiro gave Hunk a _Japanese weapons, really?_ Look, but didn’t actually argue. Hunk couldn’t know that Shiro did in fact have a set of blades that belonged to his family, that he absolutely did not use in combat. “Electrum’s for jewelry, not a weapons alloy, Hunk. Why?”

“Conductive,” said Hunk. “And also kind of ...important to the human story side of the brain, I think. Because gold and silver. The titanium more than makes up for it in terms of structural hardness. I threw in a few other metals to make sure the blade could do its job as, y’know, a _blade_. The last thing I want is for my first work to go bendy in the field, or lose its edge.”

Shiro was studying the weapons with a frown. “I’m just realizing I can do this,” he said quietly. “I didn’t even notice.”

“I did,” said Keith. “You’ve been one soul for a while now. I didn’t want to say anything in case drawing attention to it ...well.” He shrugged.

Shiro arched an eyebrow at Keith. “A while now?” he echoed.

“Do you _really_ want me repeating what we were doing at the time?” asked Keith mildly.

“No,” interjected Hunk firmly. “No. No repeating. I treasure my innocence. Stick to the topic at hand. Can you merge the weapons, Shiro?”

Shiro put his hands on the two weapons. “If having one flesh and blood arm doesn’t ruin it, I think so,” he said. “But it shouldn’t.”

“Alchemy is a very weird field of study,” sighed Hunk. “Because there’s no _study_. You just hunch your way through _everything_.”

“So this _isn’t_ how the Marmora forgemaster makes new blades?” asked Keith.

“He didn’t tell me,” said Hunk. “He was huffy enough about giving me an ingot to study. Said if humans were meant to have blades then I could work it out myself. Took me ages to realize he’s a galra alchemist.”

“Hn,” mused Keith. “I’ll have to meet him. Maybe I can learn a few things.”

“Good luck with that,” said Hunk. “Guy only survived the Druid attacks by being really good at hiding. Kolivan’s the only one that can convince him to come out of his shelter.”

“Definitely not the usual galra way,” Keith agreed.

Light caused both of them to turn their attention back to Shiro. The two blades were shining, and Shiro had a look of intense concentration. They watched as the blades rose into the air, moved toward each other...merged. Shrank. Now only the tanto was there.

Hunk said, “Now...can you switch the forms?”

“One miracle a day isn’t enough for you anymore?” asked Shiro with a little breathless laugh. “I’m still getting over the first one and I _did_ it.”

Hunk looked momentarily sheepish. “I am testing so many theories at once right now Shiro you would just not believe,” he said. “So...yeah. When you’re ready.”

“The Marmora blade awakens to an act of self discipline,” said Keith.

“Easy,” said Shiro, and looked Keith squarely in the eyes.

Hunk had the grace to facepalm as the tanto became a full-sized katana. From somewhere behind the facepalm, he quietly said, “First person to crack a joke gets brained with a wrench. See if I’m kidding, go on, I dare you.”

Keith just smiled. Actions had that effect on him.

~*~

“When you pass the gates of the village, everyone there is staring at Hunk,” Coran began.

“Like, good stare?” asked Hunk. “Or bad stare?”

“Like they haven’t seen a real cleric in a long time,” said Coran. “They’re so glad you’re here you can hear them telling each other they should throw you a feast.”

“So, hungry stare,” guessed Hunk.

“It means there’s sickness here,” guessed Keith. “Or a curse. Bad enough that other clerics have heard about it and won’t come.”

“So, _really_ hungry stare,” said Hunk.

“We might want to leave,” said Pidge.

“No, we’re pretty strong,” said Shiro. “We can at least find out what their need is.”

“We’ll make sure the only pressure they apply is guilt, Pidge,” said Keith.

“Stay here,” said Lance. “I’ll go scout ahead and see what they want.” To Coran, he said, “Cloak of invisibility time.”

Hunk was sighing, “I’ve already _got_ a village I’m trying to help. Boy, when I find the rest of my order...”

Lance and Coran were quietly conferring on a private channel. When Lance rejoined the conversation he said, “I’m running as fast as I can yelling at the rest of you to get out of here.”

“That’s kind of dramatic, Lance,” chided Pidge. “I mean you could’ve stayed invisible until you reached us and _then_ said -”

“I grab Hunk and carry him out,” said Keith. “Shiro?”

“I use my flaming sword to make sure the villagers can’t close the gates to keep us in,” Shiro agreed.

“Leaving me to run on my stubby legs?” asked Pidge. “Thanks guys.”

“Your armor makes you way too heavy for me to carry, Pidge,” said Lance. “But since you’re the last one to run you can probably hear me yelling about cannibals.”

“Oh,” said Hunk. “ _That_ kind of hungry.”

“I’m running, I’m running!” said Pidge.

~*~

The invitations were physical objects, which in and of itself indicated great care and expense considering the distances involved in shipping them. A hand carved tablet made of some dark blue fragrant wood, each Altean letter engraved and then filled in with a bright metal. Shiro lifted it out of its protective box, puzzling carefully through the words. “...A wedding invitation?”

Ezor looked over his shoulder. “Oh. Altean. Keith?”

Keith obligingly peered around Shiro to read it. “Lance and Allura. Royal wedding. I guess we’re going to have to ask if there’s some kind of special attire or something we’re supposed to do.”

Shiro looked down. Beneath the hand carved invitation was a standard Earth envelope. “Maybe no need,” he said, setting the wood tablet back in the box to take out the envelope. Inside was Lance’s handwritten note, although he’d clearly made an effort to stay legible. “Dress uniforms, he says. Doesn’t matter _which_ uniform as long as it’s for formal occasions.”

“Which one do you want to wear?” asked Keith.

Shiro grinned. “Would you hate me particularly much if I said maybe now’s the time to show off the new one?”

Keith looked amused. “I was going to wear a Blade uniform. I _should_ match my crew.”

“That’s fine,” Shiro agreed. “It’ll make sure Kolivan comes over to have a word with me. And there’s no way Kolivan’s going to miss an event like this.”

“Allura would invite the representatives of the galra to her wedding?” asked Acxa dubiously.

“She’s invited me,” said Keith. “Actually, all of us. So Kolivan will hear about it regardless. Inviting him directly saves everyone time and trouble. And he was the first person to bow to her as a princess, because we certainly didn’t.”

Shiro put the envelope back in the box. “This should be interesting.”

~*~

That week, for the first time in a long time, they forewent the roleplay campaign in favor of peppering Lance, Allura, and Coran about the wedding. Lance, perhaps out of wisdom and perhaps out of pre-wedding dread, mostly kept his mouth shut.

~*~

“Keith, you gotta help me,” said Lance. “I’m serious.”

“I believe you,” said Keith, very carefully. “If only because you’re asking _me_. But what is it you want help _with_?”

Lance managed a creditable imitation of facedesking without a desk handy. It looked real enough on the screen at least. “It’s these traditional Altean wedding customs, man. I, uh. I need a wingman.”

Shiro, listening to this out of Lance’s view, gave Keith a bemused, _he needs a what now?_ Look. Keith wasn’t doing much better. “...Are you sure that’s the right word?”

Lance took a deep breath. “Trebians have had centuries of watching Earth media. And they had to adapt their customs to not-being-on-Altea. So it doesn’t go _exactly_ the way Allura and Coran initially thought it was going to. But it’s not Hollywood – or Bollywood – either. Princess Elena is loving every minute of this, where ‘this’ is people telling me what I have to do to be worthy of an Altean Princess.”

Keith blinked. “Saving her life a few times and pulling her out of a universal nexus with half the capital as witness wasn’t good enough?”

Lance opened his mouth, then paused, and closed it, and thought about it. “...I really wish I’d thought of that before I caved, it would’ve saved so much trouble.”

Out of Lance’s sight, Shiro was facepalming in the doorway and trying not to laugh.

Keith sighed. “What is it you need me to do, Lance.”

“...I need you to come with me as backup and witness while I kill one of the giant worms in the deep caves under the castle,” said Lance. “You probably won’t have to fight. I’m supposed to kill it by myself, and then pull out two of its fangs as proof I killed it, and they’ll be made into our wedding jewelry.”

“So...you’re not asking Hunk or Shiro who could carry you probably more easily than me because…?” asked Keith.

“Hunk isn’t good with customs that involve killing things,” said Lance. “And, uh. I thought it might upset Shiro that he wouldn’t be allowed to help.”

Keith gave Lance a steady glare. “So basically what you’re saying is, you’re asking me because I’m strong enough to kill a worm and carry you out of the caverns if you fuck up, but I wouldn’t care as much as Shiro or Hunk if you’re bleeding or dead or risking your life over a stupid tradition.”

Lance turned _scarlet_. “When you put it like that...”

“You sound like a raging asshole?” asked Keith, very _very_ blandly. “Imagine that. Yes, I’ll help you. And you’re pulling three teeth instead of two, in exchange for which I won’t punch you in the face for _being_ a raging asshole sometimes.”

“Deal.” Lance radiated relief at such a small price. “Thanks, Keith.” The screen went dark.

“He probably doesn’t mean it quite like that,” said Shiro gently.

Keith sighed. “No. I’ll give him that much. It’s probably a very relative comparison.”

Shiro mmm’d. “Are there any galra customs I should know about?”

That got Shiro a very surprised look. “...That is the most _backhanded_ marriage proposal I’ve ever heard,” said Keith. He sounded impressed.

Shiro smiled. “I’d do the whole ...rings and bended knee and flowers and so on, but...you really don’t like romance as such. I have something else in mind. But _do_ galra have any traditions I should know about?”

“Honestly, you’d have to ask my mother,” Keith admitted. “It’s never come up.”

Shiro blinked. “Never?”

Keith shook his head. “Never. I never...really dared think it’d get that far, Shiro. There was too much going on, too much that had to be dealt with first. And there’s no reality that would change with any ceremony. You already have everything. You already _are_ everything. There isn’t a next level past this.”

It could be taken very bleakly, but Shiro knew better. Keith’s ‘everything’ had already been demonstrated, several times. To stay, regardless of how much it might hurt or what it might cost, to leave Shiro the freedom to choose danger or refrain and fight at his side, to search forever if need be if Shiro were missing, and to endure through any trial that presented. He’d already _done_ it, all of it. There were no vows to make that could cover anything new. Nor would he believe a vow from Shiro that wasn’t backed by similar action. Shiro couldn’t just make a vow and consider it equal to action, so expecting or even wanting a vow was, in Keith’s view, pointless.

So Shiro said, “Sometimes ceremonies are more for the people attending than the people at the center. If we had a ceremony, are there any people that would insist on attending?”

Keith frowned. “...Romance is your thing,” he said. “And ceremonies, and all that. I’ll go with whatever makes you happy, Shiro. But I want the real thing separate and just for the two of us.” When Shiro nodded agreement, he sighed and said, “The paladins would murder us if they’re not part of a ceremony. So would my mother. And there’d better be room for the generals and Kosmo. Beyond that...no, I don’t think anyone else would care.”

Shiro wasn’t as sure about that, but decided Acxa might know better. And he did have an idea for a wedding token that Keith would appreciate, and it would dovetail nicely with his desire for a private ceremony.

He was lost enough in the plans for this to be taken entirely by surprise when Keith gave him a quite thorough kiss. Shiro was about to ask what for, and noticed the very _private_ amusement he could sense at this distance. Keith was plotting something. Something he was proud of. Something he was sure of.

Shiro kissed him back, of course, but couldn’t help wondering if he should worry.

~*~

“The monastery is in ruins,” said Coran. “You can tell it was destroyed a long time ago. Fire, and something big breaking windows and walls. There are skeletons here and there, none complete. And an aura of evil hangs in the air.”

“I ready my sword,” said Keith.

“I start casting purification spells,” said Hunk. “Like, all over the place. All that I have. Trying to banish the aura.”

“That’s going to piss off whatever might still be here,” warned Lance.

“Agreed,” said Allura. “I ready my bow.”

“I ready my axe,” agreed Pidge.

Shiro glanced toward Keith, who nodded slightly.

“We’ve got your back,” said Keith. “Go on.”

“I draw my blazing sword and cast Divine Taunt,” said Shiro. “I challenge my master’s killer to battle.”

“The roof caves in some more,” said Coran. “Oh no wait. That’s just the horns of the demon rising out of the wreckage.”

“...How big is it,” sighed Pidge.

“Nothing you couldn’t handle,” waved Coran, amused. “Probably only chest-high to Voltron...”

“Cloak of invisibility time,” said Lance.

“Roll a new character time,” said Pidge.

“Let’s take the demon with us then,” said Keith. “I charge it.”

“You _always_ charge the thing,” said Lance. “Do you ever _not_ charge the thing? Maybe offer the thing cookies? Could we maybe try that next lifetime?”

“I fire my Arrows of Purifying Aura,” said Allura. “And throw a rock at Lance when I get the chance.”

Lance sighed. “I am really gonna miss this cloak of invisibility,” he said. “All right. Stabbity time.”

~*~

“You look ridiculous,” said Keith.

“It’s traditional,” said Lance, sporting some gleaming enamelled Altean armor that would have looked fine on Alfor but made Lance look like a cosplayer.

“The sword traditional too?” asked Keith, who was more conservatively armored in his Marmora gear.

“No points for guessing that one,” grumbled Lance. “But I’ve at least got my pistols too.”

“And I’m not to actually help you,” said Keith. “Just...what?”

“Bear witness that yeah I totally killed a worm and didn’t just find some teeth lying around, and/or get my injured or dead body back to the undercity for treatment or a funeral as needed,” said Lance. “Nobody will question you, because somehow you’ve managed to impress your complete inability to lie with a straight face on pretty much everyone.”

“...You know Zethrid goes hunting these worms whenever we’re docked here,” said Keith.

“Trying not to think about that, thanks,” said Lance.

“I wouldn’t have thought the trebians would have such a violent marriage custom,” mused Keith. “They’re so...quiet.”

“Apparently that’s why the custom,” said Lance, gripping the hilt of his broadsword tightly. “Nobody likes jobs that murder things. So mostly they leave the worms alone. Which means they breed. Which means eventually a whole bunch of them charge the borders of the undercity, and they can eat children pretty easily. So one of the earlier Orlas made it a law that before you can get married you have to kill one of the bigger worms. It cut down on the divorce rate, apparently. Also the marriage rate. And the number of worms. And it guarantees that parents know how to defend their kids from the worms.”

They walked quietly for a while before Keith asked, “So Allura’s got to kill one too?”

“She’s an Oriande alchemist, too rare to risk,” said Lance. “The Queen accepted a trade. Allura’s got to teach alchemy classes. I think I got the better deal, but I haven’t seen a worm yet.”

“Hnh,” said Keith, frowning. He didn’t much like it when rules had exceptions, but, "I think Allura probably agrees with you."

~*~

After all the hassle of getting to the point, Lance and Allura’s wedding was remarkably freeform to human sensibilities. The paladins came in whatever formal gear they had – Keith in his Marmora officer uniform, Pidge in her Garrison formals, Hunk wore formal Altean attire, and Shiro wore traditional samurai attire in black silk, which made his new dagger stand out at his hip. They were given front row seats to the marriage, which meant they all got a look at Lance’s “I am reminding myself that I love public appearances and therefore this is No Big” expression of fiercely suppressed terror, and Allura’s diplomatically amused tolerance of same.

The teeth Lance had obtained had been carved into scrimshaw rings. Not two rings – ten. Each linked by little silver chains to matching ornate cuffs at the wrist. The ceremony for putting these on took a while.

“Why is he so afraid?” asked Keith quietly. “This is what he wanted, isn’t it? He was steadier fighting the giant worm solo. And he _likes_ crowds.”

“Human thing,” Shiro whispered back. “He’s already committed. He’s been sure Allura’s the one for him for years. But the ceremony is making it real and public in a way it wasn’t to him before.”

Keith thought about this. “So it’s sinking in. Like realizing the bond is given and there’s no turning back.”

“Yes,” said Shiro. “That’s exactly what it is.” He fished in his robes for a small box, presenting it. “This seemed the day for symbols.”

Keith gave him an odd look. They’d already discussed this, he’d thought. But Shiro seemed sure of this. There would be a reason for that. So he picked up the little box, and opened it.

There were two little things inside. The size of a pill. He shifted one hand so that he could carefully lift one out with his claws to study it. The gleam of circuitry, tiny and dense, caught the light.

“Subdermal quantum trackers,” said Shiro. “One for each of us. Keyed to each other. I had Hunk and Pidge collaborate. If I’m anywhere in this _reality_ , you will be able to find me. And I will be able to find you. They’ve got the equipment and a copy of it will go on the Janus.”

Keith set the little pill back down in the box and smiled at Shiro. “You’re such a romantic. They’re perfect.”


	45. And the Beginning is the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After quite a long ride - perhaps longer than any of us expected during the writing - we bid farewell.

“Well,” sighed Hunk. “Shoulda seen _that_ one coming.”

“Romelle’s been pushing for it since Allura returned,” Keith agreed. “She’s never liked being shoved into politics.” He paused. “No. That’s not right. She doesn’t like being in a position that’s away from the rest of the colonists, is more accurate. The representative from Altea doesn’t get to spend much time _on_ Altea.”

“Thank you ever so much for your incisive commentary,” Lance snapped. “Can we focus on the bit where this is really _bad_? It’s as good as a sentence of exile – or divorce. Depending on how you want to run the probabilities. Neither is a good thing.”

“Divorce,” Shiro echoed. “You only just got married.”

‘Welcome to the kingdom of My Goddamn Point Exactly, Shiro,” said Lance. “I did not go through all that just to leave Allura alone. _But_. That’s what I’m looking at.”

Pidge mmm’d. “I think Kolivan’s hand is in this. Who explained the concept of a constitutional monarchy to Altea?”

Attention of the group turned to Keith, who sighed. “I didn’t, but Kolivan studies people. Governments. He came across that one pretty quickly and I think it fascinates him. He asked me a while back if I would have accepted the crown if it had been a constitutional monarchy, and I told him no, because the reasons I’d said no had nothing to do with how much power I’d have. Which I think broke his brain. Pretty sure he concluded it was a human thing.”

“So he thinks the way to apply the idea is to get the Altean colonists to try it?” asked Lance.

Keith ignored Lance, looking at Allura. She was definitely doing much better these days, but she listened a lot more than she spoke. Probably a good thing in a diplomatic leader, but sometimes he got the feeling she was quiet because her mind was somewhere else. He said, “Look...if this _is_ Kolivan’s doing, it probably boils down to Allura being the only actual genuine candidate for Queen of Altea. That she _isn’t_ Queen of Altea ...” He pursed his lips. “It’s….not right, by galra thinking. She was born to be queen. She was raised to be queen. She _fought_ to be queen. She’s proven her ability on every possible front. Therefore, to a galra mind, she’s supposed to _be_ the queen. The bit where the colonists have pretty much decided to try this democracy thing out since all their monarchs went diving off the deep end is just….a detail to work around, not a real _impediment_.”

“But the Altean Representative spends all her time on Earth,” said Lance. “She’d never _see_ Altea. Are you getting where that might be a problem? And I can do it for her, sure. I’ve apparently got actual title and rank now. I could represent Altea. But if I do that, then...I’m on Earth and Allura is on Altea _indefinitely_. Hell. To. The. No.”

“Allura?” asked Shiro carefully. “What is it you’d prefer to do?”

“I don’t know,” Allura admitted quietly. “Although I agree with Lance; I did not marry him just so we could then spend all our time apart.” She did _not_ look happy. “I...understand Kolivan’s reasoning. And part of me does wonder what I could be, if _not_ a princess. If _not_ a queen. It...was part of why taking the goddess power seemed a good choice. An alternative. The truth of the matter is the colonists don’t _want_ a queen. Or a king. Or an empress. And I must agree they have excellent reason for their reluctance. Likewise...I have to agree that I have greater experience in interspecies relations than any of them, although Romelle is better at this than she realizes. So I can understand why they would find this solution...elegant.” She studied Keith. “You turned down the crown of the empire. The same elegance of reasoning applies to you, does it not?”

Keith frowned, turning that idea around in his mind. “...I don’t know,” he admitted. “I understood why it was offered to me, is what it came down to, and I didn’t think the reasons were good ones for the galra people, moving forward.”

Allura gave him a little ‘please go on’ gesture. When Keith looked reluctant, Shiro sat down by him, close enough that their arms touched. He gave Shiro a sort of tiredly exasperated _all right, for you_ look and took a deep breath.

“The galra were scared – _are_ scared – of this new reality,” said Keith. “Voltron defeated their unbeatable trio and caused the deaths of the druids and most of the high command, directly or indirectly. There’s a lot of ‘right of conquest’ built into galra thinking – you win, you get the whole thing. That’s what winning _means_. And it baffles most of them to see mercy, because Zarkon was their example, and Haggar and Lotor were their example. And I was on the team that beat them. And then I led the team that ended it. Humans scare them. So...little, and fragile, and short-lived, and _fast_ learners. Really, really fast. By galra logic I had ‘earned’ the crown. Peace would follow if I took it. And I’m half human, so I can keep up with these humans that tore their empire up.” He shrugged. “I want the galra to grow past this idea that if they’re not the strongest then they’re prey. They can’t do that if I take the crown. The ones that see themselves as weak would hide behind me. The ones that think they’re strong would try to kill me. Nothing would _change_. The galra need to change.” He shook his head. “I don’t...think any of that helps your choice, princess.”

Allura thought this over. “Lotor’s generals follow you,” she said. “What do they think of this refusal?”

Keith sighed. “They think it’s still an option to go back and be emperor, and they’d like to be on my side when I change my mind,” he said, in a _they’re Lotor’s generals, what did you expect_ tone.

Allura looked at Shiro. “What do _you_ think of this?”

Shiro looked startled. “...I think Keith would be a good emperor, but a miserable emperor,” he said. “The change he wants could be done from a throne as much as out in the field, but he’d be stuck on Daibazaal. For a really, really long time. We saw with Lotor what happens if an emperor doesn’t take sufficient interest in every single thing the galra do. Keith’s not much of a micromanager. He’d do it, if that’s what the job demanded of him, but I think he’d hate it and it probably wouldn’t work for long.”

“May I see your sword?” asked Allura, which startled Hunk back into paying attention.

Shiro thought about it, then took it out and offered it. She accepted it with the polite reverence of someone receiving a precious thing, which mollified Hunk – at least until she said, “This is marvelous. But it won’t work for anyone but you.”

“Isn’t that kinda the point?” asked Hunk.

“No, I mean any sword you make in this way would only work for Shiro,” Allura clarified. “You’re still missing a step, I think. The way a blade forged by someone else can imprint upon a single third person.” She handed the sword back. “The – what did you call it? Galrite? You haven’t found the human version yet. You need that. And a metal for alteans as well. I assure you, it won’t be much longer before alteans have restored a warrior class.”

Hunk looked miffed. “I hope you’ve got advice on _how_ I do that,” he said shortly.

Allura smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. And it may also be the answer to all of Lance’s and my current problems. Thank goodness you made us a ship.”

~*~

As Shiro promised, the ‘real’ ceremony was private, and to the point. Shiro and Keith took a day off, dropped by New Olkarion, and had Doerk implant the trackers in their bodies. Center of body mass, so that it couldn’t be easily found or removed. Then they spent a few hours learning how to use the equipment that used the proximity of one tracker to find the other. No one else would be able to track either of them with those devices alone – one of them would have to be captive, and they considered that an acceptable risk given the other would be coming to get them anyway. Probably with an army.

Keith was appreciative enough of this gesture that Shiro had to take two more personal days to recover, but there wasn’t a single complaint about it.

~*~

“Hunk’s got a point,” said Keith. “Alchemy is intuitive enough to be weird.”

“Not actually arguing,” said Shiro. “Did you ever talk to the forgemaster?”

“He’s big on tests,” sighed Keith. “He’s also pure galra. He’ll teach me if I can prove my...senses...are more galra than human. Or at least that my senses are galra senses. I’m not sure how I do that, given I don’t actually know what ‘galra senses’ entails.”

“I’m a big fan of the word ‘both’ lately,” said Shiro dryly. “There’s no reason you can’t have both human and galra skills. Plus a few on the side.”

“Yeeaah,” said Keith slowly. “That’s another thing. Galra aren’t shapeshifters, and neither are humans. You should’ve seen his face when I showed I can switch back and forth. I...uh. We may wind up going back to the Olkari for a _really_ detailed DNA scan.”

Shiro frowned at the worry in Keith’s tone. “Why does that bother you? You know who your family is, now.”

Keith sighed. “I do,” he agreed. “But it hasn’t answered the question of who _I_ am. I’m not sure a DNA test is going to fix that either.”

“Keith, the only thing knowing who your family is would ever answer is ‘where you come from’. The only thing a DNA test will answer is what you’re made of. _Who you are_ is a question only you get to answer. Nothing and no one else is ever going to be _able_ to tell you.”

“I know,” Keith agreed quietly. “I just...thought I’d have an answer by now, I guess.”

“Honestly, Keith, that’s possibly the most human thing you’ve ever assumed,” said Shiro dryly. “I don’t know a single human being that hasn’t expected their life would just magically sort itself out at some point, that they’d have life figured out by then, and wondering what happened that it’s _not_ all figured out and sorted. That you can’t stop wondering, and can’t stop searching...those are the questions that keep the human race striving, exploring, and testing.”

Keith blinked a few times at that. “….Huh.”

Shiro entered coordinates into the navigation system. “Speaking of. Next heading. I’m working on the ‘trust your feelings’ aspect of alchemy. And yes, it is _weird_.”

~*~

“There is... _nothing_ here,” said Acxa slowly. “The local inhabitants are primitive and non-aggressive. There are no cities, no large predators. None of the minerals the scanners detect have any known value.”

Keith blinked at the view on the screen. “And I’ve been here before. Shiro, did you know this is where we’d be?”

Shiro looked up from his console at the view. “….Oh,” he said. “I guess some things really do come full circle.”

The planet they’d arrived at was Arus. Shiro added a few coordinates to the scan. The great bridge where Allura’s castleship had waited ten thousand years was mostly still there, although without the castleship to maintain its far end it was starting to crumble. The village of Arusians they’d met with was fairly new looking, suggesting it had been destroyed and rebuilt _since_ their departure.

And the generals were baffled. “Full circle?” asked Acxa. “What is the significance of the bridge? The locals could not have built it.”

“This is where we met Allura,” said Shiro. “And the Black Lion.”

Ezor looked at their coordinates. “No wonder Zarkon never found it,” she said. “We’re seriously in nowhere-land. And if you didn’t know this was here, then why are we here?”

“You’re not going to believe this,” said Shiro. “But this is where we need to be.”

Keith shrugged. “Then let’s get down there. Whatever we’re looking for, it’s probably not in orbit. Zethrid, y’wanna go wake Hunk up?”

“He’s awake,” rumbled Zethrid. “He’s been ankle deep in the food making thing all day.”

“Go get him,” said Keith. “If we _do_ find what we’re looking for here, he’s the one to confirm it.”

~*~

They took two ships; Shiro, Keith, Acxa and Kosmo in the Fang, Hunk, Ezor and Zethrid in Hunk’s space jeep. The Fang led; Keith piloted, while Shiro – with some self-conscious embarrassment – tried to do as Allura had suggested and let his feelings guide him. Keeping his eyes closed, he pointed toward a sense of ‘pull’ and let Keith pilot accordingly. Hunk simply followed the Fang’s lead.

This unconventional method of navigation led them far from where the castleship had once stood. But the trail went cold when Shiro’s pointing finger led to the surface of the world’s oceans. “We can’t take these ships underwater,” Hunk radioed. “The pressure would crush them. They’re not made for it.”

“You’re sure it’s down from here?” asked Keith.

Shiro nodded. “It’s here, just...yeah.” He sighed. “We don’t _have_ undersea vessels.”

“We can get them,” said Hunk. “Let’s get back to the Janus. I gotta call Pidge.”

“There’s no _way_ she can send the Atlas out here without clearing it with the Garrison,” Keith protested.

Hunk just said, “Pidge can be scary sometimes.”

~*~

Pidge was indeed scary at times.

She got the Atlas sent to Arus by calling in a marker or two with specific generals – the nature of which she refused to go into any detail on.

She had something on the current Atlas Captain, too – or maybe she just knew that a chance to meet the one captain who’d made the ship transform would be enough to get the man to dance to her tune.

The Voltron-2 pilots all followed Griffin. Griffin would rather have cut off both of his arms with a soup spoon drillbit than argue with Pidge.

And everyone just seemed to Understand that the trip was going to be off the record in every way. Really, the Atlas and crew seemed to regard it as a cross between a day off and a field trip to see awesome people. Word like Shiro and ‘paladins who didn’t seem to think Pidge was scary’ got _around_.

And apparently, the Voltron-2 pilots were very happy to get to catalog a new planet. Particularly a life-sustaining world. So, while Keith went with Shiro and Hunk in the largest Sea Team vehicle, Acxa, Ezor and Zethrid kept an eye on the other two teams as they canvassed the rest of Arus. Keith did not trust the Garrison not to come back later and turf the little Arusians out of their quite pleasant planet.

The leader of the Sea Team was not, however, human. He seemed to be one of the mer-people that Lance and Hunk had brought into the Coalition – at least, Krik knew of Hunk, although Hunk didn’t remember him.

“Shiro’s our guide,” said Keith. “There’s a possibility of a new mineral somewhere under the water. We’ve got a dive location.”

Krik nodded thoughtfully. “A good test of our scanning systems then. I’m not sure Ms. Holt took unknown minerals into account. The other two teams are launched. Shall we get moving?”

Hunk served as copilot this time, though the vessel wasn’t really designed to require one. As the Sea Team dropped from orbit into the oceans, Krik followed the paladins’ guidance for his own scanning route. The ship plunged easily into the water.

Keith watched Shiro. He was fairly sure if something went wrong – anything – he could call Kosmo and get them out of this sinking can. Desert-born, being surrounded by _this_ much water was unnerving. But Shiro wasn’t even paying attention to the gradually fading light as the ship descended into the depths. His eyes were closed, focusing on the feeling of pull. As before, he raised his hand to point the way. Keith relayed the directions to Krik.

Hunk did most of the talking. “Not bad,” he approved. “Pidge isn’t really one for hardware, but we’re holding up pretty well at this depth. All kinds of new minerals too. This isn’t salt water. ‘Least, I wouldn’t call it that. Higher sulfur content than I’d want.” He had a tablet, and was taking notes as they moved; he seemed to have synced it to the ship’s systems. “Oh hey,” he said. “Krik, you see that? Zero-zero-three degrees and down about twenty meters. What is that?”

Krik peered at his readouts. “...I have no idea,” he admitted. “But your friend does seem to be pointing at it. I’ll get us in closer. Sulfur in the water, you say?”

“Yeah,” said Hunk. “If the pressure’s not too much for you, you can probably handle it. If I’m remembering your oceans correctly.”

“You are,” said Krik, amused. The ship approached the unusual readings. White veins in the rock gleamed in the light of the outer lamps. “Well. I think we have earned the fee of admission.”

“Worth the price of the ticket,” Hunk corrected absently, his attention mostly on the veins. “And yeah. Can we get some samples? I could use at least twenty pounds of it.”

Shiro murmured, “Keith – can you feel it?”

Keith frowned, surprised to be asked. But he closed his eyes. And yes, there was, “...shining,” he said quietly. “Like an old glow in the dark sticker in a dark room.”

Shiro smiled. “Yeah, I guess it is. I think Allura pointed us in the right direction. Kind of surprised it’d be on Arus.”

“Five lions,” said Keith. “One in galra hands. Any of the four _could_ have found pilots, but it was Blue that brought us in. Maybe they decided to wait for humans for a reason?”

“I take it the mineral reacts to humans?” Krik asked politely. He engaged some robotic appendages to take samples of the rock face. “Do you have the readings, Hunk?”

“I do,” Hunk agreed. “Hope you don’t mind me locking that particular mineral to classified.”

Krik shrugged. “Ms. Holt made it clear that any or all of our findings might wind up highly classified,” he said. “Commander Griffin trusts her judgment. I have no reason to argue with Commander Griffin on the matter.”

Hunk smiled. “Trust me, man. If this turns out the way I’m hoping, it’s just the first step toward protecting people from being a little too safe and warm, if you get my meaning.”

Krik blinked, then shivered slightly. “You have my full support, paladins. And my silence.”

“Good man,” said Shiro.

~*~

They stayed in orbit over Arus for a solid week, while the Vehicles scouted the whole planet and met the natives and Hunk locked himself in his jeep with the samples Krik had acquired. The good news turned out to be that the strange mineral had many deposits all over the planet; the undersea node had simply been the closest to their position when Shiro had started searching. Hunk experimented with great care, reporting that the metal seemed to tug at the mind. He wasn’t concerned with what it might do to him – rather the reverse. He didn’t want to imprint the only sample he had with just _his_ biological matrix. This had to be part of what the Marmora forgemaster thought he needed to figure out. This metal wanted to work with a human on some metaphysical level. The trick was getting it into the right shape(s) before allowing it to do so.

The generals spent their time watching the Vehicles do their work, watching the scanning results, and generally wondering what kind of weird beings humans were, to go to this much trouble and expense just to catalog a planet. Even the Olkari weren’t _that_ obsessed with trivia. They gathered knowledge, sure, yes, but always with an end goal in mind. They didn’t collect it just because it was _there_.

For Keith and Shiro it was more a very odd kind of homecoming, and a backdrop for an entirely different discussion.

“How do you feel about, say, flowers?” asked Shiro.

“I realize they’re culturally important to you,” said Keith levelly, “But I hope you understand why frankly I don’t ever want to see a single cherry blossom again. Ever.”

Shiro winced. “...I can understand that. I’m sorry.” He paused. “...And I was angry at you.”

“Yes,” said Keith quietly. “You were.” He blew out a breath. “It’s all right. You were...protecting yourself. So was I.”

Shiro took Keith’s hand in his, squeezing gently. “Yes. But not anymore. No cherry blossoms. How do you feel about hyacinths?”

“I...can’t remember which ones those are,” Keith admitted after a few minutes. “So – fine, I guess?”

Shiro smiled. “You see them in early spring. Sort of column-y, very fragrant, usually pink, purple, blue, or white?”

Keith blinked. “Oh. Right. Easter dicks. Those. They’re fine.”

Shiro had frozen in that particular way that said he was stuck between laughter and a facepalm. “...Easter dicks?” He waved a hand. “No. Don’t tell me. Or at least, tell me _later_. No hyacinths. It’s going to take me a while to get over that name for them.” He coughed. “Right. Different but related topic. How many guests?”

Keith shrugged. “I’ve given you the list on my side,” he said. “This ceremony’s your thing. As many as you want, really. The real question is _where_.”

Shiro nodded at the view of Arus. “Why not _there_? It’s beautiful, the flowers don’t have any associations, and we owe the locals a party that doesn’t end in their village being firebombed anyway. And since this is where the human-reactive metal is, it’d make a great base for the new Order of the Lion.”

“Multitasking your wedding?” asked Keith.

“Appreciating that my romantic side and your pragmatic side do not have to be in competition,” Shiro clarified. “And we can’t headquarter the order on Earth. Too easy to target it there. You can scout a good site to use as a base while I get the wedding preparations done.”

Keith exhaled slowly. “Shiro...just because it’s not my thing doesn’t mean I don’t get that it’s important to you. I remember your wedding with Curtis. It was...beautiful. It just also _hurt_. I’d rather not remember the hurt, but you don’t have to settle for something plain on my behalf. Just...make it _differently_ beautiful?”

Shiro smiled a bit. “That’s...kind. But if I make the arrangements too elegant, you’d have to wear a tux to fit in.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Then I will wear a fucking tuxedo, Shiro. I will wear a tuxedo so well that you spend the entire day regretting that you made all these elaborate plans and invited all these guests to spend hours and hours talking and eating and drinking and dancing because when you _see_ me in that tuxedo you’re going to want to rip it off me.”

Shiro smiled. He knew that that was _exactly_ how Keith would get through the day. He had something planned that _might_ derail it, but he wasn’t entirely certain how it would go or what it would really do and didn’t want to ruin the surprise. So he said, instead, “Sometimes you’re adorably human.”

~*~

Keith got dragged in for experiments again, this time to compare how he reacted to the new metal with how he interacted with his Blade and the luxite ingot. What he could feel, what the feelings felt like and how intense they were, could he affect the luxite ingot or the new stuff Hunk was still pondering a name for. By the muttering, ‘hominite’ was currently the top contender, to go with ‘galrite’.

Shiro cut short some of the experiments, though. “I can’t pull quintessence out of nothing. Your forgemaster, the guy who rarely leaves his caves – I’m guessing that the planet he hides on is really life-rich, isn’t it.”

“Yeah,” Hunk agreed. “Jungle world. Not a lot of animal life, but an insane amount of plants and insects.”

“Lots of quintessence,” said Shiro. He looked out at the view of Arus. “Kind of like that. I’m guessing living metals only happen on worlds like that.”

Hunk glanced up. “...Point,” he said. “Guess I’m starting a new workshop. It’s probably time I let the Alteans run theirs on their own anyway.” He put the metals away, and didn’t miss that Keith was swaying on his feet. “Go on to bed, man. There’s still a lot for me to do, but Shiro’s got a point. I shouldn’t get too serious without a workshop and a forge I can dedicate to this kind of work. And you two have a wedding to plan _and invite me to_. Can’t do that if one of you’s completely out cold.”

“Of course you’re invited,” said Shiro, scooping Keith up in his arms just as if they weren’t about the same height. That Keith in no way complained or snarked was indication enough of how tired he was. “We just haven’t reached the invitation part of the internal negotiations yet. Get the scans from the Atlas and the Voltron teams before they go. Probably going to want any official documentation of Arus kept to a minimum.”

~*~

The Atlas and Vehicle Voltron headed back to Earth, and the Janus went to Altea. Hunk had work to do, and plans to make. The final projects of his workshop on Altea were powerful mining and excavation machines – the kind that could dig tunnels through sand or granite and reinforce them as they went.

When Allura heard about this, she contacted Hunk privately with some particular requests. And then spoke to Coran about a favor.

Publicly, the Princess of Altea politely declined any government position, accepting instead a new title; Protector of Arus. The world, she maintained, would be open to any peaceful being that wished to live there, provided they kept the peace and didn’t disturb the native Arusians or their way of life. Her official stated reason was that many had lost their homes fighting Zarkon, and many had spent their lives in battle, and she wished to make a place of peace for those that wanted somewhere to lay down their weapons that didn’t haunt their dreams. She would speak before the Alliance on Arus’ behalf.

The Janus spent quite a while going back and forth between Arus and Altea, Arus and Trebi, Arus and Earth. There was equipment to move, and people.

The Holts didn’t all go at once – too many projects. But every trip at least one of them would be on the Janus. Arus was a good fallback position in their view – far enough from any of the current greater powers that it was unlikely to be a focus of attack. Like Hunk, they frequently brought equipment of their own design along.

Coran brought his family, and it was their choice where to site the last castleship of Wimbledon-Smythe design; not quite where the last one had stood. This one would be on an island, surrounded by a lake. Coran was, he said, going to teach his descendants the things his grandfather had taught him about castleships.

For all the bustle of people going back and forth, the only _visible_ difference from orbit was a small town on the site where the original castleship had stood for ten thousand years. The town, designed and built by the Holts, served as a landing site for shuttles laden with equipment, a shop for the repair and maintenance of shuttles and equipment, and facilities for the people that came with that equipment to sleep and eat and bathe. After a while the native Arusians started coming by to trade stories and crafted goods. Their main village had been burned to the ground after Voltron departed – evidently Sendak had wanted to destroy all of them just to see if it would hurt the paladins. But the Arusians were quite good at hiding in the myriad cave systems under the surface, and had simply waited Sendak out. Since the paladins hadn’t returned, neither had Sendak, and the Arusians had rebuilt. Allura found it surprising and gratifying that they were still happy their ‘lion goddess’ had returned.

Keith, when not required by Hunk to help with testing the hominite, explored Arus with Kosmo and Shiro, and marked out the hominite deposits. Kosmo was less than thrilled with Arus’ hunting prospects; animals tended to be at most the size of an Earth fox, barely a mouthful for the big furry hunter. The fish, however, were more to Kosmo’s taste – the fish could get _very_ big. Consequently, Kosmo was frequently (if inadvertently) bathing himself, as he sat on riverbanks waiting for a fish to get near enough to pounce.

Shiro swapped out his usual arm for the floating weaponized one while they scouted. He could use it to do all kinds of tricks, including using it as a grappling line to quickly climb trees or rock faces. The generals scouted too, with Acxa maintaining the communications lines and Ezor and Zethrid working in tandem.

But at sunset Keith liked to find a high place to watch it from, and Shiro came to sit with him. If they weren’t perched on a tree branch Kosmo would join them. It had taken Shiro quite a while to recover his old love of the night sky, but watching stars emerge had become a kind of shared tradition.

“Hunk should probably let the forgemaster know if he finds another world with galrite,” Keith mused. “It’s strange. The Blades treat their weapons like they’re rare and precious – and they _are_ , really – but you have to figure that there once was at least as much galrite as we’re now finding of hominite. It’s just that down the years a lot of blades were permanently lost, and the metal they were made from also lost.”

“One thing at a time,” said Shiro quietly. “He’s got his forges set up now. We _know_ most of the Blades aren’t alchemists in any way. So there’s got to be enough to react to, imprint on, any human. And there’s a way to purify the metal of those imprints so a new blade can be forged from the metal. I think he’s regarding the whole thing as a personal challenge at this point.”

Keith leaned into Shiro’s side, and Shiro put his human arm around Keith. “Probably,” Keith agreed. “Of course, we still don’t know if the blades he’s making would affect druids, or any one else possessed by the dark energy.”

“Allura seems to think they will,” said Shiro. “I think she’d know.” Changing the subject, he asked, “Do you want to invite Klaizap?”

“I thought you’d invite the whole village,” said Keith. “I mean it’s really their land. Just because they’re cool with sharing doesn’t mean we’re not trespassing.”

Shiro blinked. “True,” he said. “And you’ve reminded me of something. Your mother and Pidge collaborated on a gift for you. I’m supposed to make sure it won’t upset you.”

Keith slanted a Look at Shiro. “So you’re going to tell me what it is?” he asked. “Or is this going to be some kind of twenty-questions deal?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you,” said Shiro. “This isn’t the kind of gift where ‘surprise’ is a great part of it. No…apparently Krolia asked Pidge to track down your father’s family. And she did.”

Keith froze. “….What?” he asked in a small, stunned voice.

Shiro kept a firm grip on Keith. They were fairly high up and Keith looked a little pale now. “Yeah. That’s why they didn’t want to surprise you. Apparently Krolia understood your father to have relatives, and she was kind of…well, _annoyed_ , in that particular galra mother way, that when your father died they didn’t step up. But she hadn’t met them herself, she just knew some names and dates. So when she had some free time she went and asked Pidge to help her track them down. Apparently there’s quite a long story about why you didn’t end up staying with them after your father died. But they asked _me_ to find out how much you want to know.”

The news had hit Keith hard; while his face was turned toward the setting sun, Shiro could see the pale skin shading lilac. “I…don’t really remember ever meeting any of them,” he said. “But I wouldn’t remember Dad’s name if it wasn’t on his gravestone. I just figured he didn’t have any living relatives.”

“Well. At first it was because Krolia can’t shapeshift,” said Shiro. “And explaining a purple striped woman would have been…a _lot_ of explaining. And after Krolia left, Pidge thinks your father was worried that you’d change too – turn purple, that is – and that you’d end up in danger. There’s a lot of peculiarities about your early records that Pidge thinks are down to your father doing whatever he could to avoid taking you to doctors or show you to strangers. But he did tell his family about you – at least, they knew you existed, and that your mother was gone. Krolia seems to think they got the idea she was in the military and had been deployed on a secret mission. Which …as cover stories go is probably as close to the truth as your father wanted to risk.”

He could feel Keith’s shoulders trembling under his hand, and held him close. It wasn’t simple news at all, certainly. Keith hadn’t even claimed a surname for most of his life. Finding his mother had been a _shock_ and this wasn’t any less of one. And being told he had been wanted and missed didn’t change that for most of his life he’d been very much alone. “That’s…enough news for now,” he croaked from the vicinity of Shiro’s chest.

Shiro just hugged him. “That’s fine,” he agreed gently. “Krolia’s handling the conversations, as I understand it. Now that Pidge has found them. They’d like to meet you, if you should ever happen to want to, but I think Krolia would shred them before she’d let them put any pressure on you. In the meantime I can get answers to any questions for you, if you’d rather.”

“Thanks,” was the muffled, croaked response. “And here I thought it was going to be more wedding questions.”

Shiro laughed quietly, giving Keith a littler hug. “Most of my family is gone,” he admitted. “So at least I’m not springing any surprise inlaws on you.” After a few moments he got the desired response, little chuckles that was Keith forcing himself to get his head back in gear, pulling out of numb shock.

“So how much longer?” asked Keith. “We could probably send out invitations any time now.”

Shiro considered. “I think Hunk wants to perfect his forging technique so he can give the first blades out while people are here already,” he mused. “For Pidge and Lance.”

“Lance is _moving_ here,” protested Keith, much more normal now. “Isn’t he like…prince consort protector of Arus or something now?”

“In a hotel room, yeah,” said Shiro dryly. “Though honestly I think he likes that better than the oversized house they had on Trebi. And he doesn’t have to wear a crown.”

~*~

Allura had them gather in Hunk’s main underground forge. A waterfall provided hydroelectric power for it, via a little water wheel Hunk had placed. Already there were many signs of his handiwork – the caverns had much more of a ‘catacomb’ look, with smooth level floors – or at worst, a steady gradient slope – and arched, reinforced walls and ceilings.

The generals were not brought to this meeting. Nor Kosmo, nor any of Hunk’s apprentices.

Just the six of them, although Pidge looked a little bewildered to find herself hundreds of light years from home just to have a meeting in a cave.

“I did not want to entrust this to any transmission,” said Allura. “And I know that in some ways, bringing us all together is its own kind of warning to those that watch us, but I didn’t really have a better way to tell you.”

“Okay…that sort of covers the why,” Pidge conceded. “But the ‘what for’ is still open.”

“I am going to recall the lions,” said Allura. “As things stand if anything happens to me, it is unlikely they would ever return. We may not need them again for ten thousand years, but that should not be my decision alone to make.”

She had _everyone’s_ attention now. “So…what are you going to do with them?” asked Shiro. “They aren’t needed right now, after all.”

“They’re going to wait here,” said Hunk. “Allura asked me to dig out dens for them. Here, on Arus. Places they can wait, protected, until they’re needed – but not so inaccessible that people can’t approach them, ask for their approval to pilot.”

He unrolled a map on a nearby workbench. “This is the final blueprint for the underground system,” he said. “It’s not just mining for hominite. This cave system will let people live here without disturbing the Arusians. It’ll let the Order of Lions grow, develop, and train away from scanners and other observers. And it’ll hide the five Lions too.” He pointed to colored zones on the map. “I’ll be reinforcing each chamber so that their unique energy signatures won’t give them away to any hunters. But people that live here will know. The Lions can choose them, if they decide they want to participate in the universe’s affairs again.”

Pidge looked the plans over. “…Kind of…on the nose, these hiding spots. Green’s under that big forest zone, Blue’s in a lake, Red’s in a volcanic vent…”

“Had to,” said Hunk. “They give off unique energy signatures, but the right environment masks it. It’s like when Alfor made them hide before, only this time they’re all on one planet. That _should_ mean that when they’re needed it’s more likely they’ll find five good pilots in less than ten thousand years.”

“Why is Black going to be right by the castle Coran’s building, then?” asked Shiro.

“High elevation,” said Hunk. “And Black’s more about connection than the other four. So, put it near the heart of things. I’ve got a special set up for it. Black will be watching without anyone realizing it’s there. Or at least, without anyone realizing what they’re seeing. Black will look like one of those Trebian clockworks.”

Allura gave the group a level look. “We’ve accepted the price of not having a goddess,” she said. “And that is standing guard ourselves, and finding and training anyone we can who’s fit to stand guard with us. Lotor will return. Haggar may return too. _We_ might not be here when they do, but the tools must be here for those that are.”

“On that note,” said Hunk, “I think I’ve cracked the Blade forging method.” He took out two daggers, handing them to Pidge and Lance. Both were cast with hilts in white and gold, and the blades were paler than steel. Pidge’s had the look of a utility knife – single edge, with a wire cutter set into the opposite side. Lance’s looked like a traditional double-edged dagger, albeit fancy enough to wear as part of a court outfit. As they drew their new blades, looking them over, Hunk said, “They respond to discipline. Duty. That kind of thing. Or should, anyway. Take ‘em home, practice privately. And I’d have made a gun if I could, Lance, but guns have moving parts. If you can make them work, let me know. If you can’t, tell me that too. I may have to refine my methods some more. But I _think_ I’ve got it. Lemme show you.”

He took out his own, which looked kind of like a tambourine, only instead of chimes it had little triangular blades. Altogether too vicious for Hunk. In his hand it grew and expanded into a saw-toothed broadsword. And then shrank again.

“…Lots of teeth,” said Keith, and the wide eyed looks suggested everyone else was thinking something similar.

“Traditional island designs,” said Hunk. “I don’t really use daggers or swords, personally. But these weapons will be identifiers as much as they are weaponry, since each one’s got to be made personally for the user. So. It’s something no forger would ever guess, I think.”

Lance just stared at them. “Yeah,” he said. “There is really no way I ever pictured you waving a fist full of metallic shark teeth. Ever. I’d like to unsee that now.”

Allura sighed. “The important thing,” she said, in a tone that shut Lance _right_ up, “is that I have your commitment to this. We agree to do this. To make the weapons that will fight the dark when – not if, _when_ – it returns. We agree to find, and train, and bring _here_ anyone that can commit to joining this fight with us. By which I mean they would be willing to fight and die, if that’s what it takes.”

Keith did not have one of the new, white blades. He had his violet luxite Marmora blade. But he drew it, held it out, and extended it to its sword form. “You have my word.”

Shiro was only a second behind Keith – the second it took for him to remember he could do the same thing. He drew his tanto, extended it to katana form, and echoed, “You have my word.”

Hunk didn’t repeat the vow, but he did hold out his rather ferocious looking toothy sword to echo the commitment.

Pidge looked at her utility knife. Held it out. Eyeballed it. Sighed. “You’ll have to take my word for it,” she said. “But that should still be enough, until I’ve figured this _magic_ out.” The word was sour on her tongue; for all her study of quintessence she still really didn’t like magic much.

Lance held out his dagger, frowned, then looked at Allura. As something hardened in his expression, the dagger became an Altean broadsword. _For you_ , it seemed to mean. At least, Allura’s little sad smile said that was how she accepted it. For Lance more than anyone, what Allura was asking was very personal.

“Today, paladins, begins the Order of the Lion,” said Allura. “And Arus is your refuge and your sanctuary.”

~*~

The day of the wedding was beautiful. Spring on Arus was in full swing, with flowers in full bloom and trees showing blossoms. The local Arusians were apparently very happy to have their friends the paladins back around. There were dances and bonfires that were surprisingly pleasantly fragrant, with meat roasting on spits over all of them. Long, low wooden benches were laid out for people to sit on during the ceremony, and which were clearly meant to be moved to define a dancing area when the ceremony ended.

Allura, in full court regalia including her royal circlet, waited on a little dais while the guests assembled. The Blade of Marmora was well represented, with even Kolivan and Krolia in attendance, along with Acxa, Ezor, and Zethrid all proudly regal. The entire House of Holt was also in attendance, in varying degrees of ‘dress uniform’, and Matt had brought his girlfriend N7 along. Lance’s entire family – or at least, his closest dozen or so relatives – had come, even Veronica wrangling leave from the Atlas. Several graduates of Hunk’s cooking academy were in attendance, along with Princess Elena of Trebi, Coran, and Coran’s family. Off to one side was Varkon, who had been given an invitation in exchange for his help – and after Shiro had gotten over the bizarre shock of the rotund little galra’s collection, he’d hired Varkon to be the photographer and videographer for the wedding on the grounds that clearly here was a being disinclined to let even the tiniest detail get past him.

Pidge, in a slightly evil move, had not only made sure Slav came, but that Slav was in charge of the attire of the principal attendants. Rumor had it that Shiro had sworn there would be vengeance for it later. Pidge, for her part, serenely claimed that _clearly_ leaving such important life decisions up to Shiro was just _asking_ for trouble and they’d need all the luck they could get.

Conversation was lively until the Arusians started beating a steady drumbeat. As everyone settled into silence, Shiro and Keith emerged from little tents on either side of the gathering. Shiro wore a formal black silk kimono, with a matching black jacket and pants, which set off his white hair and the white hilted tanto at his hip. Around his neck was a wreath of Arusian flowers. Keith wore galra dress armor by contrast, and had shifted his appearance to galra features to match it. His black hair was braided forward, across his chest, and at his hip was his Marmora dagger. Like Shiro, he wore a wreath of Arusian flowers around his neck. Both men walked toward Allura, and paused when they were close enough to hold hands.

There was no such thing as a formal wedding for galra and human; Krolia had never married Keith’s father as such, and human law was the only one available at the time anyway. So Allura decided to let them speak their own vows, with the crowd as witness.

Keith spoke first. “...I don’t generally care for symbols,” he said. “Symbols change their meaning too easily. They don’t bind in any real way. I gave you my bond before you’d ever left Earth’s solar system...and as much as it’s hurt sometimes, I wouldn’t change that even if I were given the power to. You are my mate, for as long as we both live.” He took out a little box. “But humans need symbols. To remember what’s real, to let it _be_ real. So, to be your symbol, your reminder, I carved these for you.”

Inside the box were two scrimshaw rings. This was where that third tooth had gone, clearly, but the carving-work was Keith’s own. Tiny and detailed, the kanji for life, love, and eternity were separated by little stylized lion heads around the ivory bands. Shiro lifted out the larger band, blinking away tears of surprised joy. As many times as he’d been reminded down the years, Keith’s tendency to take Shiro’s explanations to heart and do unexpected things with them later still surprised him. As he put the ring on his finger, Keith took the matching one and put it on his own hand, the white standing out against the lilac of his skin.

It was Shiro’s turn, but he had to take a moment to clear his throat – he hadn’t expected Keith to surprise him like that. When he could, he said, “I could recite poems, or quotations, but you’ve never been one to let symbols or spectacles take the place of something real. I could give you words, but actions are what you remember. So in this ceremony of symbols, before these witnesses, let me give you something real.” He took Keith’s hand in his. Speaking clearly, so that all could hear him say it, he said, “I love you, Keith. And I take you as mate, for as long as we both live.”

Keith looked puzzled for a moment – as much as he wanted to hear _those_ words, and it _did_ mean something when Shiro said them before witnesses, he had the idea that this was something else, too. Shiro closed his eyes, bending slightly over their clasped hands. There was light gathering between their interlaced fingers.

And then he felt it. Not just words. _Presence_. And a powerful, passionate, helplessly intense love. Shiro was taking the bond Keith had given and making it two way, giving Keith the window to Shiro’s soul and self that Keith had long ago given him. Shiro wasn’t asking Keith to take his declaration on faith. Putting action to word he was matching Keith commitment for commitment.

It was Keith’s turn to blink away sudden, unexpected tears. “I know that you love me,” he said.

~Fin~

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I’m not particularly well versed in Vehicle Voltron lore, and wikis are sparse when it comes to images and details, so...I’m going to have to beg forgiveness of vagueness and/or lore-based errors.


	46. Author's Note

That's it, guys. You held on through _forty five_ chapters of fix-it. You've made it all the way to the Author's Note.

Why is there an author's note? Well, because this fanfic author has just cranked out over 250,000 words of a single story, which in 20ish years of fanfic writing is still a new "wow, I can't believe I did that" kind of event, and I thought I'd give those brave souls who plowed through such a lengthy fanfic a clap on the back and a word or three of congratulations, and also my heartfelt hope that you didn't try to _marathon_ this puppy because sleep is a good thing and we all could use more of it.

You will probably note that I did not tie up every single loose plot thread - not in the canon, and not even the ones I've elaborated on or created for this story. That is, believe it or not, deliberate. I am an Old School Voltron Fan. Hell, I'm a _GoLion_ fan. For me, a happy ending is basically defined as 'a good spot to leave the heroes'. They're in a good spot. They'll be happy for a while. Their lives won't _stop_ here, or _end_ here - there's many more things for them to experience or discover. But we can feel confident, at least, that whatever comes along they can handle it. They'll be ready for it. We can imagine those future happy endings and not feel like we're in any way deluding ourselves.

That was the happy ending I wanted the canon to give me. With the sole exception of Pidge it was _not_ the ending I got. As of this writing I do not know what happened to the show after S07E01. I do not know who killed the writer's puppies or drowned their kittens in a lake. I do not know what possessed the showrunners or property owners to allow _Voltron_ to have an iteration that did _not_ have a triumph over evil and a happy ending. I came away from the 'epilogue' deeply, personally _offended_. As well do a grimdark Smurfs movie as do this to Voltron.

It took them two seasons to run Voltron off the rails to the extent they did. It took me quite a while to fix it - to the best of my ability at any rate - and I thank you for reaching the end of this ride without wanting to throttle me. I hope that I have to at least some degree 'fixed' the canon for you as well.

This fic is huge to the point I doubt many will tackle it without a recommendation to do so from a trusted source, so if you did enjoy it please consider recommending it to others. Should you feel the desire to write the lemony content I did not feel qualified to tackle, use AO3's gift option to gift me the fic and I will edit appropriate chapters to tell people where they can go for lemons set within this fanon. If you are inspired to draw, @ me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Larathia) or [tumblr](https://larathia.tumblr.com/) and I will link your art into the appropriate chapter.

And if you're inspired to tell me what you think of this monstrously massive fic - well, the comment field is always open.

As for me - I'm going to fall over for a while, and then probably rewatch VLD at least up through season six, and when I've properly shifted mental gears there's an AU waiting for me to go back and give Lotor the story he deserved, since I couldn't do that here.

May the Lions find you worthy,

Larathia.


End file.
